Legends II: BioHazardus Evolution
by ScarQueen
Summary: Sequel to Legends: Neo Genesis. In the void something else was created, something neither alive nor dead. It consumed all, threatening to overwhelm the senses and destroy reason. Welcome back to the struggle.
1. AN Skip if you want!

A Note From The Scarred Queen….

Welcome one and all to the long awaited sequel of LNG (Legends: Neo Genesis). (All five of you who still read fan fiction in any case…since its been what…five years?) First things first, allow me to apologize for taking so long in developing a sequel to the original _Legends_. I realize I took my sweet time with this, however I also believe you can't rush a good thing. (Let's hope this turns out to be a good thing…)

To give credit where its well deserved and due, I have an amazing volunteer editor, who can be found right here on ffnet. **SWIFT HUNTER** my hat is off to you for doing such an excellent job and for all the great input you've given me. You're amazing babe, stairwell accidents and all! XD Swifthunter not only branded both of the tops of my hands with the words 'verb tense matters' but also offered up some great revision ideas. If you read something here that you think is truly outstanding remember to keep the hunter in mind and let her know. (Believe me the hunter likes warm fuzzies as much as I do.) However, I have heard word from her that she is far too busy at the moment to take on new beta/editing jobs....sorry folks, maybe in the future when the hunter's schedule clears up some..

Now for the most important part…

This story _Legends II: Bio-Hazardous Evolution_ is a SEQUEL. Note the '**II**' behind Legends…that's a roman numeral for the number 2. This means that there must be a prequel, or no. 1, in order for there to be a number 2. Thusly, you may have a hard time with this story if you don't read the prequel first. (Said prequel is titled **Legends Neo Genesis**…feel free to access it by giving my profile page a peek as that may be the easiest, hassel-free way to find the story…)

Ah yeah, that last part, copy right crap/warnings, welp, here we go:

I do not own Capcom or their highly addictive cast of…bishies and succubus (is that the female equivalent for bishies mayhap?) And despite our greatest yearnings, I am not going to make money off this story by using capcom's copyrighted materials…insert toilet flushing sound here…

This is a work of fiction….with crossovers, angst, suggestive themes and more than enough swearing and violence to make a nun blush and then force feed you soap. Religious themes and the nature of death may be questioned. If this makes you uncomfortable, do the mature thing and stick with your beliefs. Click the 'back' button on your browser and move on to another story. All's cool man, we don't judge on this single page of the internet. (I can't say the same for the other 99.9% of the web though…)

Comments, question, and concerns? Lemme know through PM or review or whatever…flamers and friends welcomed alike…just remember you get back what you give out and as such you may say anything you like to me and I will take your concerns into serious consideration… Oh, and you do get points for being original…_**so if you're going to flame me, be creative**_ and do it right the first time so as to save us both the effort of bending over twice. :D

All right, this has gone on long enough…enjoy the story kiddies…(all three of you reading this in any case… T.T )

Huggles and Snuggles

ScarQueen


	2. 10 Years Later

One fine day in the middle of the night  
Two dead boys got up to fight  
Back to back they faced each other  
Drew their swords and shot each other

**10 Years after the events of LNG…**

The phone rang in the middle of the night. A steady pitched pulse buzzed in her ear as she waited patiently for him to pick up. He picked up on the fifth ring after she had plunked another fifty cents into the pay phone. The plastic stuck to the heat of her hand, making the clammy sweat in her palm a fond remembrance of the last of summer's heat and a weary welcome to autumn's inconsistencies.

"Hello?" his voice was rusty with sleep, his tongue sticking to back of his throat.

"Grant." The voice, that raspy voice, saying his name was unmistakable. Grant glanced at the clock on the cluttered nightstand. Somewhere between two empty glasses, half a bottle of heart medication, and some crumpled, dusty Kleenex it was edging on three in the morning. He sighed, willing his brain to function with out the aid of coffee. His brain begged to differ, as did the sagging bags under his eyes. Working murder cases wasn't the only thing that kept him up in the middle of the night, even if he _was_ a retired paper pusher. When did this woman sleep? He had to be in at work in three hours…welll, it wasn't a matter of life or death….not yet anyways…

"Miss Star." He coughed, swallowing a block of flem. It wasn't that these kinds of calls were unusual from her. It was just that she never called about anything good. His fingers were crossed. No dead bodies for him tonight. Just favors. The pause on the other end of the receiver was poignant. Detective Grant squeezed his eyes shut, holding his breath.

"I need a favor." Blunt and to the point, he liked that about her. Grant slowly exhaled. Didn't mean he was in the clear however. There might still be a dead body hidden somewhere in this phone call. Three in the morning….what was that kid-woman, he had to remind himself -doing at three morning?

"I'm not helping you hide a body," Grant commented flatly. "I'm an officer, in case you've forgotten." She chuckled. Well, she hadn't said yes. Not yet anyways. For all he knew, she _did_ have a body with her. Please, just no dead bodies. Sometimes dealing with this woman was more stress than his heart needed. Absentmindedly Grant's free hand went to his chest, scratching the space over his heart. His thumb briefly swept past the long scar that ran from the base of his throat to his navel. Open heart, twice on the operating table had left him more than ready to receive his severance benefits that had build up during a life time on the force.

"You're a retired paper pusher who's nosier than hell Grant. There's no body here. Not anymore, anyways, but thanks for asking." Not anymore? He chose not to comment. She was only joking… … …he hoped. She cleared her throat. "I need papers. A fake ID and maybe a social security to go with it. Whatever will make getting around easier if we happen to get picked up by some friendly law abiding men." Well, at least he wouldn't be charged as an accessory to murder if she ever did end up getting 'caught' again.

"Another one?" Grant asked. "What happened to the ID I got you last week?" Grant reached for a glass of water pushing a tissue box, pens, and several empty orange medication bottles out of the way in the process. The wan light from the bedside lamp made his aging eyes water.

"Nothing. The new ID isn't for me." Grant set the glass down, realizing it was empty. He swallowed, attempting to wet the cotton that clung to the sides of his throat.

"Do I even want to know?"

"I'm doing a favor for an old friend."

"You still have those?" Grant asked, rising to his feet. His knees protested, the joints popping and the muscles aching from even that small movement. He reached for one of the empty glasses on the nightstand. Warily, he shuffled to the ajoining bathroom, the long cord of the phone trailing behind him like a curling snake.

"Whether I want them or not. I was careless, he found me by chance." That was only the half of it, and they both knew that. Lor didn't do 'friends'.

"He?" Star sighed. Grant turned on his bathroom faucet.

"You know him-or of him-in any case. He's Tweak, the half human, half fey guy?" _He_ hmm? There were more than one of those in her story. This one though, he had been something of a friend, if not at the very least reliable. The way she told it, this particular man had been in charge of a mixed blood fey court under the direct supervision of his grandfather, a pure blooded fairy. Pah. Grant turned off the water and held the phone, thinking.

"The one ruling the inner city fey court. Yeah I remember. Thought you two were good friends?" Grant brought the glass to his mouth and drank. The water splashed cool and refreshing across his desert mouth. Easily he wipped his mouth with the palm of his hand, setting the empty glass down on the bathroom counter. Slowly he turned around and shuffled back to his dimly lit bedroom.

"Were. Past tense. I'm supposed to be dead remember?" Star paused. "He wants me to escort his delegate to another fey court, something about an alliance. I don't know any more than that, he was pretty tight lipped about the details. He agreed to keep his mouth shut if I did him a favor."

"Escorting a delegate? You seem pretty calm about this."

"More like resigned. He has me over a barrel and he knows it. The papers are for the diplomat, delegate, whatever you want to call her. I can't afford to screw this one up. Tweak's probably one of the few people I knew who wouldn't knife me the first opportunity he got. He's fair, but this treaty or whatever it is has some serious heft to it." She paused, "Tweak's scared of something. Scared enough to go across the nation to form an alliance with Fey he's never met before. Can your paperwork handle this?"

"First things first, you want me to make papers for someone I've never seen?" He'd laugh if it weren't for the fact that she was dead serious. The woman would have made a killing as a lawyer.

"Its more of a formality than any thing else. I don't expect that we'll actually need them. The delegate's a Canadian," Star replied, as if that made any bit of difference when forging documents possessing photographic support of some kind. Of all the things he couldn't believe, he was making and swiping, confiscating, or faking drivers licenses for some one like Star. Occultist, paranoia case, and highly intelligent, Star paid him almost obscene amounts of money for confiscated drivers license. True to her closet paranoid personality, she utilized an arsenal of IDs to get by on any given day. Grant was just her pusher. He sighed. With the benefits the state gave him for being retired, he needed any cash that came his way just to keep a hold of his property. Taxes were going up this year too…

"I need more than that to go on and you know it. What's this delegate look like? How old is she?" He reached for the worn legal pad peaking out from the sea of used tissues and empty medical containers on his nightstand, before taking a seat at the edge of his bed. Grant wasn't a crook, never had been, it was just that the benefits of their particular deal outweighed the evil.

For her part Lor was often able to tip him off on underground drug deals. He wasn't part of the narcotic unit, but he had his own contacts here and there. Occasionally she was able to get her hands on information that never would have surfaced until months maybe even years after a deal went down. Few knew about his mystery 'informant' even in the department, yet everyone trusted it. The information they shared was always reliable. Reliable enough for several mob families to have a hit out for his source. Grant suspected there might have been a few moles in the department as well. There was more than one reason the mob was hot for Lor's identity though. She regularly managed to clean out entire mob savings accounts. How it was done, not even he was going to hazard a guess.

Illegal or not, Grant could afford to look the other way for the kid. The licenses were never missed or misplaced and the money from her kickbacks went to local charities anyways. Well, the part she didn't pay him off with did. Mostly, though, the money went to the funding of orphanages. It had been a surprise to him that she had bothered to give him a straight answer when he'd asked her about it. Her honesty always surprised him. Still, he was in cahoots with the kid. It gave him a certain kind of satisfaction to see 'hard earned' drug money going to feed homeless children.

Lor hesitated a moment, "The delegate is bald."

"Bald?" He stopped writing on the legal pad. Blue ink oozed from the ball point, making a mini pool on the yellow paper. Bald? Had he heard what he thought he heard?

"It's a woman. She just hit her legal drinking age too, I think." He stared at the legal pad blankly with the plastic receiver still cradled against his ear. A bald _woman_?

"You're calling me at three in the morning for this?" Grant asked flatly. No way in hell would he be able to find that. A _bald_ woman?

"Technically you know who the papers are for too. Aaron's little sister, Sarah. She's grown up now. Or something like that." Star paused. "I need the licenses soon. If it has the picture of an old man on it, I don't care. Any bald person will work." Creating a fake out of a real license. It was doable though somewhat redundant. Most people wanted real looking fakes, not fake looking reals. Even after the seven years of their strange business alliance, she could be a demanding woman.

"How soon?"

"Tomorrow." Mentally, Grant groaned.

"And then what? Off saving the world again, Star?"

"Nah, I am planning on a little decapitation and cannibalism of the viral type within the month though." She wasn't laughing as she said that. It was never meant to be a joke.

"Terrible thing, what happened at Raccoon City. It was seven years ago and you're still dwelling on it." She didn't say anything to this. "Speaking of dwelling on unusual things, you couldn't contact me during office hours because?" His voice came out more harsh and craggy than he intended. Coughing again, he reached a blind had to the nightstand. There was at least a gulp of water left over in a glass…somewhere…if he could find it… Several used tissues fell to the floor as he hunted for the elusive glass. Why wasn't t here any damn water when he needed it?

"You can take a nap this after noon old man. Your partner Johnny is getting suspicious. We still don't know who the mole is. I'll swing by the usual place at noon for the pick up." Of course she wouldn't comment on the Raccoon City incident. She'd been there when the zombies broke out. Somehow the kid had made it out. Needless to say, that had been one of her more memorable three in the morning calls.

"Don't put all your eggs in one basket, but I'll see what I can do, okay? Oh, and Star? Got a lead on that other thing you mentioned." She was quiet long enough for him to wonder if she had already hung up. "Star, are you still there?"

"…Yeah. Um…I'll be out of town for a while. So…"

"I'll hold onto it for you. I can even keep on with the investigation if you'd like." It was a sensitive subject with the kid.

"Just hold onto whatever you've managed to find. If you find anything else, that'd be nice, but you don't have to push yourself. I'll come get it sooner or later. There are a couple of things I have to deal with first before I'll have the time to deal with that." Grant found the glass at long last, downing the gulp. He paused, eyeing the empty glass. Hadn't he just gone to the bathroom to?

"Like that killer virus you keep mentioning?" The liquid dampened the dry sarcasm in his voice.

"If you watched TV sometime you wouldn't think I was a closet nut case," Star retorted. "They call it bioterrorism. Very few people know of the particular origin of the T-virus. I told you, Raccoon city wasn't an accident. There's been more outbreaks since then, and a lot of past outbreaks that never reached the severity, or notoriety, that Raccoon City did." He was getting too old for this. His neck cracked in agreement as he switched the receiver over to his other ear.

"So you say," Grant commented. She also claimed the government was behind the censoring of the news, hence the reason none of her supposed viral outbreaks were never reported. The idea was intriguing but nothing the Area 51 geeks hadn't already thought of. "Bioterrorism to hell, in my day it was the nuclear threat you had to worry about." Lor chuckled at that. "You're still holding out on what happened at Raccoon, aren't you? What aren't you telling me Star?"

"Nothing you need to bother with. The less you know, the better off you'll be. Its just a series of coincidences clustering together to form a small piece to a bigger puzzle. You like puzzles don't you Grant?"

"Is that a trick question?" he asked warily.

"What can I say? It's fun to keep you guessing." Yeah, whatever. As if that kid had anything to do with Raccoon City…and even if she did, he didn't want to know… She wasn't human that one. Their relationship was, despite appearances, shifty at best. He had to continually find a balance between the information he needed to know about Lor and her activities, and the things about her he hoped to god, hell, and purgatory he would never have to find out. You didn't have to lie if you never knew the truth in the first place. She was right, he was better off ignorant. On that they were both in agreement.

"Right, well the documents will be in the same place as always."

"As always, thank you Grant. Your payment's already in the mail." She paused for a moment. "And Grant?"

"Yes?" She was quiet for a moment.

"…Never mind. Its not important." Another pause. "I've got to go, my time is almost up."

"That almost sounded like a serious goodbye," Grant said.

"It wasn't," he could hear a faint smile in her voice, "but this might be. Good bye Grant."


	3. When There's No More Room In Hell

*insert edit* Hey folks, just re-loading this chapter...there some mechanics that needed to be sledgehammered. XD Enjoy!

* * *

**Hope, Arizona**

**Lor-3 Days Later**

"Get down," Leon snapped, the red laser pointer of his gun nearly blinded my left eye on its way to the target. I could hear the safety switching off as Leon thumbed his gun with a familiar metallic sound. The necro-it looked like it had been a middle aged man once-lunged towards me. Wet clotting bloodlet coated its scar-torn mouth. Its blank, vacant eyes were pinned on us like a thirsty man staring down a cold glass of water. The urgency of the eyes however wasn't conveyed on the sagging, pustule-ridden flesh of his face. Just below the artificially created double chins, dark veins surrounded its windpipe and esophagus through a gaping, oozing hole. Red-black fluid I didn't care to name trickled down in snotty clumps. The skin of the wound looked as if it had been stretched and pulled back. The extra folds flapped uselessly against his throat and shoulder. Disgusting, yet oddly fascinating. You have to wonder how his corpse had reanimated in the first place, if a good chunk of his breathing equipment was gone. I lashed out with a right hook, driving my knuckles hard into the still perfectly shaped nose on his otherwise seriously fucked up face. Cartilage and bone gave, jamming fragile little nose bones into that soft opening in the skull. The necro dropped heavily to the cracked, pebble strewn road. It twitched before going still. One down, more to go.

Leon's gun popped off a few more shots. The noise reverberated, a firecracker whizzing down the street. Those stumbling, lurching things were awake now, their actions quickening with fresh meat in their sights. Leon dropped three on my left with headshots. He had two more of them lurching up to his right. How that man managed see past the emo cut of his brown hair was a mystery to me. All the same, he was making himself more useful than I had previously thought he would...

Scrabbling, broken nails pressed into my arm, pulling me off balance and shallowly breaking the skin at my wrist. I could feel the warm drops of something trickling down from my shoulder to my elbow. It was warm and sticky in a way blood shouldn't be. Blindsided. Yanking, I drew back my fist, freeing it from the weakened grasp of the stitch. With my other hand I squeezed a fist, going tense for the kill blow. I lashed out with a hard jab. In the weak fire light of the burning city the fist hit home, slamming hard into the biter's temple, throwing her away and down onto the ground.

I spun as the next one lunged, its mouth going for every piece of exposed skin it could get at. It had been a businesswoman once. Her hair still smelled like expensive perfume and her high heels-which had been overpriced and pointless before she'd died-were now receiving the full-scale punishment they deserved. The sleek brown leather of her heels were coated with black. The left heel had snapped, taking one of her ankles with it. The joint was bent in an unnatural ninety degree angle. Ms. Heels didn't notice her ankle. She didn't care about her very expensive and very destroyed gold watch. She didn't care about the chunk of her forehead and right ear that was hanging uselessly to the rest of her, connected only by mere tendons.

Not Ms. Heel. She was too busy trying to suck face the way cannibalistic serial killers do in horror movies. So not into you darling… The ex-businesswoman grappled at my arm, off balance on her own feet but still looking for something warm and fleshy to gnaw on. Her hunger must have been insatiable.

Grasping her forehead I slunk behind the necro'd woman. My free forearm braced against her neck with my other palm pressing into the back of her head. Don't you dare bite me. Grunting, I twisted hard to the left until something snapped. I kept twisting. Something else snapped. After a third and final brittle snap, I let her twitching body fall to the ground. Her broken ankle banged weakly, the heel falling from her foot, before she went limp. She wasn't getting back up again.

"Get off of me!" Sarah bellowed, her voice reaching near hysterical heights. I turned in time to see a necro topple her ass first into a hole that used to be a bus window. Her legs stuck straight up in the air, serving as a natural guard to the necro that was half falling, half lunging onto her. Sarah could do little more than scream like a little kid who had slipped into the toilet when seat was left open by accident. What an idiot.

The over turned bus we had our backs to was supposed to be cover from them. Really Sarah had no concept of tactical fighting. She might as well have been holding a foghorn and a sign that read 'Come and get it'! Deadheads were lurching in on us from every direction now. Even from the other side of the bus. Damn girl was lucky there were no biters in the bus. That would've been one pain in the ass she wouldn't have gotten over.

"Sarah!" Leon called over to her. His attention quickly flitted back to the fifteen or so zombies lurching towards our make-shift corner. The gun went off, light dancing at its tip, dropping another two. Those shots had counted too. They had been headshots, right between the eyes. This boy was a regular gunslinger, or more likely something else.

However, Sarah's little idiotic stunt was reeling them all in now. The cowboy was swamped keeping the horde off our asses as it was without a screaming moron thrown into the mess. An empty clip dropped from his gun, clattering to the ground, as he reloaded. It joined the growing pile of corpses at his feet. The stitches kept coming for us, their mouths open and hungry and their voices raised in a loud, wordless howl. If this kept up, we would really be in a tight spot.

"I'm on it," I said to Leon. For a moment his dark eyes caught mine. They were hard but accepting, we had an agreement. He would handle the mess on the street. I would deal with that idiot Sarah. Ideally, the bus served as one hell of a choke point. But these weren't the Shawn of the Dead zombies I was hoping for. Nope, these bastards were re-learning to climb and had already made it half way up the side of the bus. How did these things know how to climb?

More necros had somehow managed to climb atop the damn bus and were making their way to Sarah via legion formation. By then I was skirting the space behind Leon and vaulting onto the overturned vehicle. Running the length of the metal beast I came up behind Sarah, the dumbest smart person in the whole damn town, at record pace. I gave the green-horn Agni and Rudra to hold on to, though I didn't know why. She obviously had no freakin' clue on how to use them. Agni came free in a heartbeat from the sheath. The necros leaning on her had already pushed her halfway into the bus. At this point Sarah could do little more than scream, but she had been doing that since the get go and It was starting to get annoying.

The next part would be easy money. One more step and the walking dead man had been arm barred with Agni's edge, a gashing hole the size of a metal sieve opened in its neck. The poor bastard went flying towards the nose of the bus, sprawling out on its back. The disjointed, cumbering fall of the guy toppled other movement impaired zombies onto the ground several feet below. Five for one sale. Nice. Did I hit the spinal cord? I didn't feel anything…

"Get over to Leon," I yelled over the screaming dead and Leon's firecracker gunshots. Reaching down I yanked her out of the window. Scrabbling to her feet, she nodded close-mouthed, and took off running down the length of the bus.

The horde was almost done swarming us, just a little bit longer and we'd be out of the woods. The necro that had attacked Sarah was lurching to its feet. Persistent little stitch wasn't he? Snarling in a deep windy voice, it lunged, its mangled hands reaching out in front of it. He was missing four fingers from one hand and a thumb from the other. Very easy money. Angi danced a quick forward thrust, his sharp, pointy end aiming for the necro's sweet spots. A second later and the thing was faceless with brains and red-black infection leaking out of every sacred hole in its head. Including the bite marks. Agni's jagged edge hung out the back of its skull, drenched in dark viscous gunk. I yanked the sword free, getting the same black pukiness all over my arms and hands in the process. So, so disgusting.

"Lor," Leon was yelling. What now? I turned to face him. Bad dental and an open lunging mouth reared to greet me. Hands scrabbled at my neck, the nails lightly scratching my skin. Fuck. That.

I back peddled, moving my ass away from the necro. I needed to kill that thing before it got the idea to try that again. How had a necro gotten so close? Shit, it was still too close. I couldn't… it was going to bite me either way you look at it… Leon's gun went off and I was sprayed with black red blood as the necro's head exploded. Brain innards coated my shirt and jeans, clinging to the ends of my hair, plaiting them together like the tip of a wet paintbrush. My neck was wet with the black goo of infection. Awww….c'mon…that was just….the smell of it….nasty….

Grimacing I flicked the black goo off my hands. At least my hair was black to begin with...but still...when this began I had been wearing an orange jersey with the lucky number thirteen on it. Now congealed, spattered ick made me look like a Halloween trick-or-treater. Maybe this would come out in a wash? Meh. The real purchase had been my jeans, boots, biker gloves, and leather vest. And those were holding up just fine, thank you very much. But what the hell? What if I had swallowed some of that? Where had Sarah found this guy? Who was he anyways?

"Be careful," Leon said, lowering his gun. He as stoic and hard lipped, but the words held genuine sugar coated concern. It was wasted on the likes of me. Be careful? Excuse me, but I'm the one covered in innard juices, not you buddy. I took in the mangled necro bodies. The horde was gone, or dead…dead-er?….well…they weren't getting back up …. This guy is just a little bit more than annoying. 'Get down' and now 'be careful'? I gripped silent Agni in my hand. Just who did he think he had run into in this town? Martha Stewart?

"Leon," I said casually, "sit boy." I hefted Agni and flicked him out into a flying arc. The blade hurtled through the air, tumbling end over end. Leon reacted instinctively dropping to the ground on a knee, his six shooter easy in his hand. Agni nailed the zombie-bastard dead on, slicing its head into halves like a meat cleaver and getting stuck mid-way. The ex-cheerleader-at least I think that's what it had been-slumped to the ground, falling off the side of the overturned bus. She landed with her ass in the air, her mini-skirt flopping towards the ground to show off her hot pink spankies. Turning Leon took note of the dead Necro'd cheerleader, before glancing back to me, nodding as he reholstered his gun. 'Get down' my ass. Refer to exhibit A on the ground, buddy. Where was he aiming for just a moment ago? Whose side was he on? Easy answer there: his own.

Where in the hell had Sarah found this guy? His aim was too good, the way he handled a gun…he wasn't a civilian. There was way more to Leon than met the eye, but then, we all had our little secrets, didn't we? I was an escort to a diplomat and the dead were walking all around us. I suppose weirder things have happened. Can't recall any of them right now, but why split hairs about it?

"Nice move." Leon regarded me with sharp blue eyes, his brown hair falling into his gaze. He was quiet. He unnerved me. He was too similar to…was he military? He had thick clothes on, leather jacket, green pants of some kind, and work boots. Stuff you could move around in and would get the job done. Not to mention he'd been able to drop every necro he'd came across with too much ease. His aim was dead on, every shot was a head shot. He was too good; no combative flaw in his movements, no hesitation, like he'd been trained machine style. Not to mention he wasn't throwing his ammo away. Every single bullet when to good use. That type of fighting was hard to come by in a casual way, which indicated military.

Come to think of it, Sarah was probably the most under-dressed person here in her khaki long shorts and white cami. Hell, she was probably the only real 'civilian' left in this whole damn town. I guess that put me at fault then, as her bodyguard. Whatever. She was still alive. Tweak couldn't complain about it as long as she came back in one piece. But what a sight we make, me in my biker get up, Leon-whoever the hell he may be-and Sarah, the only chic I know who deliberately wanted to be a cue ball. I cracked my neck, taking a breath.

"Shall we go?" I asked. Saying nothing, Leon got to his feet and turned to the road we'd have to take. Sarah scraped her jaw off the ground and collected her cool. Her knees were still shaking though.

"That was sick, Lor," Sarah said, dropping down from the bus to the ground. She pulled Agni free, using both hands, with a wet-brain-sucking-on-metal sound. Like Leon, I studied the deserted street before us. It was lined with small town businesses. A fire burned in the hardware store to our left. Some idiot had driven a car into it. To our right the sliding doors of the grocery store kept opening and closing over a dead corpse a horde must have feasted on at some point. The half of the face that remained intact looked feminine, when you put the bite marks and splotches of red-black aside. I ignored the dead bodies around us for the time being and turned back to Sarah and Leon. A cool breeze swept down our street, tickling the sweat that was gathering on my forehead and at the small of my back. I took a breath, trying to ignore the smell of innards and cooked meat permeating the air. If I thought too much about the carnage around me…well…even karma couldn't cover all of this….

"We need to go to the hospital," I said. I'm surprised my voice sounds so calm. Even though it was the fifth time I'd been in a city like this…even with all the blood, guts, and fleshy bits around me…the senseless death of it all, nothing about a place like this made any sense. Aside from the sounds of burning fires, this place was quiet. Quiet in a way you never noticed. There was no steady buzz of electricity, no lights on in any of the apartment buildings around us. There were no animals to hear either. No sounds of cars, no planes overhead. This place was death on earth. It was so quiet it was eerie.

"Are you kidding me?" Sarah replied, staring at me. Her eyes were bugging out of their sockets. "That place has to have zombies crawling all over it!" Dude, you have no idea… I gave her a look.

"That's the idea," I retorted, jumping down from the overturned bus. My boots hit a puddle of black necro infection when I landed. "Maybe we'll find what triggered this."

"Why would you say that?" Leon asked, reloading the clip in his gun. I don't like the tone he was using with me, it was too inquisitive. Whatever. I shrugged-I had no desire to get myself shot-and made my way down the street.

"Just a hunch," I muttered to myself as I made my way past the hardware store. "Besides, isn't that how it always happens in the movies?"

"Movies?" Leon asks.

"Oh man, you mean like Dawn of the Dead? Like Romero's movies? I saw those. They were freaking awesome!" Sarah said as she reholstered her swords.

"Awesome like this?" I ask her with a raised eyebrow. Sarah glanced around us, before shrugging.

"Guess its better when you're not in the movie."

"In either case, the first reports of hostile activities were sighted near the hospital. Its our best bet to finding the cause of all this," Leon remarked casually from behind me. I could hear Sarah's footstep as she caught up with him. The dead silence after that last fifteen minutes of madness and noise was a little bit more than unnerving. I was sure Sarah had a crush on him. She never made a point to talk with me any more than necessary. I listened in on their conversation with half an ear. Anything to fill in the quiet, stillness around us.

"How long have you been here?" Leon asked Sarah. Wow… talk about your professional information pumps.

"We just got here a couple of hours. We drove into town and then our car broke down," Sarah said. He was not going to buy that excuse, sure our car 'broke down.' Yeah, I bet his did too. Then again, for all Sarah knew, that's what actually happened. Technically, we ran out of gas, but it was a calculated decision on my part.

"You picked a bad day for a vacation," Leon was saying.

"Nah, I'm running an errand for my boyfriend. Lor's supposed to be my bodyguard."

"Bodyguard?" Leon asked. I could hear the skepticism in his voice. I wondered how long she was going to continue feeding him information.

"Well, my boyfriend and Lor used to be really good friends. He also said that Lor is special," I heard Sarah mutter to Leon. There's always one gossipmonger in every crowd… "He said those things can bite her and-"

"Sarah, shut the fuck up," I snapped, glaring at her over my shoulder. Why don't you tell the whole world? Leon looked to me, his eyes were sharp enough to pick away at any bullshit I might have fed him.

"You've been inoculated then?" Leon asked. He was interested now, really interested. I'd caught his attention and not in a good way. Inoculated? …In a manner of speaking … I remembered how Vali's face looked as she sank into an abyss created in the depths of death just for her…I remembered Maelstrom glowing red hot, the Seal of Solomn that had been tattooed on my back melting away into a puddle as it was broken down by Vali's madness.

I remembered losing my mind.

"You could say that," I replied.


	4. No Mercy Hospital

Hey folks, back this week with another chapter for you. This would have been up sooner however yesterday was a solid 8 am to 8pm day for me. TT . TT I was a little bit less than enthused and too exhausted to post anything.

Bambinaqua: Thank you much for the praise! (You've made me blush darlin'.) The story rocks because I had a good editor as well, don't forget to drop her a line if you have the time. ;) As for Vergil, I ain't tellin'. :p You'll just have to wait and see! D

* * *

**Hope, Arizona-Down Town**

**Lor**

We made it the hospital safely enough, all things considered. Half an hour felt like years when sticking to the shadows was our only hope of by-passing zombie herds. Even more disturbing were the small groups of flesh eaters huddled around squirming, half-alive house pets. The smell of blood was thick on the flame-eaten air of the town. Fires raged, spotting the town and threatening to overtake the whole of it. The unchecked fires radiated enough heat to make the town feel like a furnace. Even the desert night seemed hotter and it wasn't long before the tell-tale trickles of wetness started finding their way down the small of my back. Not even the occasional gust of wind was enough to gut the flames or cleanse the air of the stench of decomposition. This place truly was a ghost town from hell. The stories of the individuals whom had lived here were told in the arching, sprays of cherry red finger paints, by the firelight glinting off of broken glass and metal, by the quiet hopelessness that lingered in the shadows of the squirming alleyways. The carelessness of broken windows and destroyed SUVs made the desolate sounds of feeding that much more revolting. This place was dead, it crawled and that would kill us all if we let it.

Swiping sweat from my forehead, I rounded a corner, always keeping my back to the wall. Ahead the path was spotted with the slumped, deformed figures. There was no end to them. Hope, Arizona, population 3, 000. All of them now necro'd, undead, infected, zombies, ghouls, zack, zeds, stitches, brainless flesh eaters…pick a term. The humans here-all of them-had been infected with the virus; the necro virus. I didn't even know where it came from. All I could be certain about was that Loki-my biological bitch of a mother-had something to do with it. For that reason and that reason alone, I'd been tracking and killing every trace of this flesh eating hell I'd found. Loki had to have had something to do with all this, maybe not directly, but I could see her influences on something a mile away. Technically I was doing her a favor. Hell knows _why_, but Loki said it herself: the living and the dead were never meant to co-exist. Let's just say my 'services' were going to come with a hefty fee the next time Loki and I met face to face.

I'm not a geneticist, but from what I could tell, those infected ran on some kind of collective hive mind. The dead humans we've had to fight through to get to the hospital are only low-level zombies. Low-level zombies were mindless eating machines with a perchance for puking on and infecting other relatively normal people. The low level dead head could act individually, but occasional a stronger mind could take control. That 'higher' intelligence was always, without exception, a higher-ranking zombie. I was guessing sometimes things went wrong when the virus turned its host. Sometimes when things went wrong-which was happening more and more frequently-the low level zombie mutated into a high level zombie. When that happened, the super mutant zombie or the 'necromaster' could experience what other low-level zombies were experiencing. Kind of like activating and viewing the world through a camera lens. These low-level zombies could act as ghost fingers and toes to the high level zombies.

Oh yeah, I know, I know. Doesn't sound like much. After all, it was only my own unproven theory. But honestly, this was where the real trouble could have began. A capable necromaster could theoretically take over an army of low-level zombies in order to horde the living hell out of anything. I would have thanked that bitch of a death goddess that I'd yet to run into that kind of high-level zombie if I didn't hate her so much. It almost goes without saying that the physical deterioration caused by the necro virus more or less kills any mental competency a necro may have had to begin with, given enough time. Mostly though, I've only run into mid-level necros. That is, a zombie that could control one or two of its brethren-in a very loose, very uncoordinated manner. You could hardly tell the difference between the master and its auto-hacked dead heads in those particular cases. Either way you looked at it, they had all found their way to the ground as an unmoving gore pile.

The mind-fuck middies were a pain in the ass, to be sure, but not as weird-or as disgusting-as a few of the other mid-level zombies that began their undead careers mutated into something beyond fucked up. They took the gold, silver, and bronze in the super zombie freak ugly contest. Mostly, the mutations caused by the necro virus were random at best and down right disturbing at worse. Being caught by one of the seriously fucked up zombie mutates…It's a hard way to die. Believe me, I've seen the remains of the super freak mutates' victims. I pray to hell, god, and who ever else will listen that I never have to find out how a human body can turn into a city block long smear of blood.

Bottom line: if it was infected with the virus, run like hell or-if you have the skill and the balls-kill it. The fine print beneath the bottom line? Stay clear of the stuff that squirts out of a re-deaded zombified corpse. Bodily fluids of the infected were highly contagious and extremely communicable to those blissfully alive and ignorant masses. Another reason the job of body guarding Sarah was an example of a failure to launch: any given second she could get infected. A stray droplet of blood, or the smallest cut would be all it would take. So far we had been lucky. Still, I had to admit, using an infection was an ingenious method of taking over an enemy. Hell, it was an effective way of expanding an army quickly too. Maybe not a _useful_ army-more like a shambling dumb as grass army-but an army all the same. The key ingredient was just one kamikaze volunteer willing to take out an entire town. Look at what happened here. Three thousand dead-_infected_-in the course of two days or so.

Well, speaking of necromasters…by now, _it_ had to know we were coming-Leon, Sarah, and I. It probably didn't care. Either that or it wanted us to come. Through all the dulled senses of the necrofied townspeople it could sense us. I wondered if this was a high level or mid-level Necromaster? Fuck it, I'd kill it either way, so there really was no use in thinking about it. _Heh, what do you think of me now, mommy dearest? _I was going to take out this necromaster laughing.

Our shoes echoed in the streets as the three of us came to a halt before the hospital. The hospital itself was dark and quiet, looming like the quiet undetonated grenade in a G.I.'s flap jacket. It was as intimidating of a building before this crisis and had only stepped its game up in the aftermath of it.

Still sticking to the shadows, the three of us avoided a majority of the lurchers. There were three dead heads near the sliding doors to the entrance. It was easy to take them out with Rudra. They never made a sound as the blade sunk into that soft little hallow at the base of the skull. While I took care of the goulies, Sarah and Leon pried the 'automated' doors. We slipped into the main entry hall of the building like thieves, successfully avoiding a necro swarm of undead wrath. Sarah and Leon pushed the doors shut behind me, no doubt cursing the gods at the electrical plant for playing this kind of retarded joke.

As I crossed the threshold to the building my skin broke out into involuntary gooseflesh. Just like clockwork. This always happened when I got near hospitals, but why should it matter really? Outbreaks of viral death had been occurring on a nearly global stage for the last ten years. I'd only been able to handle smaller outbreaks in the US, however. (I didn't have the means to go global. No passport to speak of, and no desire to be registered in a well used governmental data bank to boot.) The mainstream human world blamed the black market for the bioterrorism. Most other non-human 'species' in the world were moot about the point. I didn't think either side realized the mythological world of the 'imaginary' was rearing its fugly ancient head and making its presence known.

Politically speaking, _everyone_-human or otherwise-was in an arms race over the death virus, the T-virus, the G-virus whatever the hell the humans were calling it. It didn't matter what you were, everyone-_everything_-was getting infected. It was rare enough for a virus to jump species, but this kind of virus, it was more than just rare, it was unheard of. The vampire community had had the highest casualty rate thus far, seeing as their main food source was being tapped. This illness had everyone's attention, now that it wasn't just a 'human problem' anymore. A lot of the non-human communities were scrambling for alliances over the issue; everyone wanted to be cured from the incurable. As for me, I was as neutral and as neutered as it got. On my own, I'd been trying to hunt down the original source of this virus for a better part of a couple of years now. A black virus, a living death that infected humans, was it unleashed ten years ago? What did Vergil and Loki have to gain when Vali went down? I wish I'd known. I wish I'd been stronger then.

The minute we stepped into the front lobby of the hospital I could feel it, like the dark hulking elephant nobody else in the room could see save for me. My stomach greeted my heels and it felt as if the air was cut off in the room. It was that feeling that only a demon can give off and it was right here, somewhere in the hospital. I caught a glimpse of it through its aura. It was a big mother, a huddling aura the size of a football field… I wasn't sure how that worked, but I could sense the auras of just about anything. I never really trained enough to get a real understanding of auras beyond using them as energy. However, the necro master was close. Very close. It was underground, by the feel of it. Peachy. _Well…I guess its time to get heads rolling. _

"Let's explore," I said. My voice carried, sounding louder in the quiet dark lobby than it should. There was an odd hushed stillness to the pace that grated against the chaotic desperation of the scenery. Papers were strewn all over the place, coating the floor in a white layer. A bloodied gurney was left overturned and empty. Bloody hand prints were smeared on and across the swinging glass doors, across the sterile white walls, over the lobby receptionist's counter….it was everywhere. A cup of coffee, cold and untouched sat in front of a cracked monitor and a phone receiver that hung, dangling. The top of it just brushed the ground; it had been left off the hook. The flotsam of our lives, it all fell away so easily to reveal our turmoil when the shit hit the fan.

"Explore?" Sarah asked. Her voice was hushed as she glanced to me. The stubble on her shiny cue-ball head was slicked with sweat and the red bandana she was wearing as a do-rag was soaked through. Leon flicked on a flashlight he'd taken from his belt. Droplets of sweat trickled down his temple as the clear blue-white light cut through the darkness like an arrow. A laminated plaque on the wall caught his attention.

"There's a basement," Leon said, nearing the plaque. The plaque turned out to be a wall map. A spray of blood had narrowly missed the map, coating the wall next to it a hardened, rusted red color. "Nearly fifteen floors on top of that. Sixteen including this floor." Sarah joined him, gawking at the map. I stayed where I was. I couldn't hear anything, but the necromaster was down. I needed to go down. Maybe I could send military Boy Scout and Sarah on a goose chase for now. They'd need something to do while I took care of business.

"And the closest stairs?' I asked.

"This way." Leon nodded towards the left side of the lobby. The red exit sign was the only light still left on in the place. How the hell does that work? The electricity in the place was completely cut off…what was the exit sign battery powered? The door to the stairs looked unused from this side. Nobody made it up or down when the infection hit.

"Great, you guys go up. I'll take down."

"Alone?" Leon asked, turning to me. He lowered the flash light beam to the ground, squinting. He tried to make out my face in the darkness. He looked perplexed at my suggestion. I shrugged. _Gotta play this cool._

"You're taking Sarah with you. That's kinda the same thing isn't it?" I asked, turning away from them. The red exit sign and the stairs were only paces away.

"Gee, thanks Lor," Sarah grumbled. I smirked at Leon over my shoulder. He frowned.

"You sure you can handle it?" _Boy Scout, please._ Taking Sarah along with him should've been punishment enough. Don't ask for verbal abuse to be heaped on top of that.

"Do I look like I have the words 'team player' written on my forehead? Beside you have more area to cover," I retorted. _C'mon, did I look like I needed your help? _I didn't have time to play twenty questions. Sarah would probably be safer with Leon than she would with me anyways. I was only her escort. That doesn't make me her damn mother, nor does it mean that we're joined at the hip. Not in a situation like this. I had my own things to deal with. "Its too damn dark in here anyways. I'll find the emergency generator and get it up and running. I'll catch up with you guys after I've taken care of that."

"Hell no," Sarah retorted, giving me a dead stare. I paused and turned to face her, raising an eyebrow. "That's a _stupid_ idea," she continued.

"It's a good plan," Leon replied. "But its also a stupid one too. You're right, we'll cover more ground that way. We'll have an easier time searching through the place with some light, but you know that will draw every infectee here. Sarah and I will barricade the front door here and then continue to look for survivors. We'll meet you on the third floor." Yeah, light was going to attract those necro mothers like no other….huh…I hadn't thought of that..

"You won't find many, but good luck." I gave Sarah a sweet smirk. Sarah made a face at me. There wasn't any reason either Leon or Sarah should suspect that the necromaster was hiding in the basement. They shouldn't have been able to feel the darkness of the thing like I could. Sarah had never had the training. Leon might have been holding back though…that was something to be wary about. "Any thing else I should do?" I asked innocently, glancing between Sarah and Leon.

"If there was, you wouldn't care anyways," Sarah replied dryly. She turned to Leon, showing me the twin blades Rudra and Agni strapped to her back. Okay so she really didn't have any clue as to what the two blades could do, let alone that they were demonic soul arms. Leon hadn't really given them a second glance either, but he did see purpose in keeping sharp weapons around for melee situations. I had instructed Agni and Rudra both to keep a zip lip when I handed them over to Sarah. The two swords probably wouldn't shut up when I got them back from her. Already Rudra was glaring at me. I winked at him, holding a finger to my lips. They were good for their word so far. Agni and Rudra would continue to keep silent. I was going to be paying out of the nose for bubble gum to make it up to them though.

"Is that okay with you Lor?" Sarah asked. What? Was she talking to me?

"Let's give it an hour," Leon commented, "Third floor." Sharp boy. Did he know I was daydreaming? He couldn't be civie. No way in hell.

"Whatever," I said before shrugging and turning away. I needed to go. I didn't have time to be fucking around right now. "Take care of yourselves," I added, glancing at them over my shoulder. "Don't get bitten."

"You're lame," Sarah replied, rolling her eyes. "See you and be careful."


	5. Run Like Hell

Holy, hell...what a week. . Enjoy folks.

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**No Mercy Hospital-The Basement**

**Lauren**

The basement was dark, creepy and everything a hospital basement should be-give or take the half-eaten reanimated cadavers. They were easily dealt with as I continued to search for my prey. I re-tightened my leather gloves as I made my way. They felt stiff and crusted over with dried unmentionable bodily fluids. My boot heels made squelching, throw up sounds as I made my down the tomb of a corridor. My orange t-shirt would have clashed horribly with the rustic black goo stains smeared on the green tiled walls. At least it would have if it hadn't been blacker than a mole's ass in this place. My boots scuffed on the floor, echoing in the darkness. Every minute sound touched my ears, whispering paranoia. Man, the last thing I needed was a back attack from a zed head. I zipped up my little hand-me down biker vest.

Despite the architect's evident twisting-hall orgasms he'd had while designing the place, I found the maintenance room relatively easily. The spare generator sputtered to life, in a whiney, corroded voice after receiving a little love from my boot heel and a generous gallon or two of gas. The lights spasm into life, temporarily blinding me before bathing the cramped room in a pale pink glow, casting shadow phantoms in every nook or cranny. _Great! Now I can see whatever is going to attack me… or not…_ Somehow, the fluorescent lighting only made the basement seem even creepier. It was as if the room was attempting to set a pre-rape mood for a horror flick of some kind. Ironic. I set the gas can down next to the big red 'hazard' sign on top of the generator. _Talk about your idiot warnings…_

It took a bit, but I found the reserve gas cans and set them down next to their brother. There were ten in all. I lined them up like dominos, save for the last one, all the while slowly formulating an interesting idea. It only took another minute of searching to find someone's bloodied scrubs. I tore up the scrub and stuffed the rags into the gas can's mouths. The sound of tearing fabric seemed amplified, even with the spare generator buzzing like radio static in the background. I ignored the whispers of movement I knew were nothing more than my own trippin' nerve ends. Paranoia that's all it was, there was nothing left alive in this place. My work done, I wiped my hands clean and as I rose, I reached for the last, lonely and neglected gas can. There should have been a decent amount of time for the rags to soak up that sweet smelling yellow-clear liquid before I made my way back. All the same, I left the room with the tips of the rags soaking a large puddle of gas I happened to 'spill' all over the place. I made a nice foot wide trail of gasoline from the generator room to the medical supply closet down the hallway.

I don't claim to know much about medicine. In fact I don't even claim a remote _dislike_ to like doctors, hospital, or anything of that nature. I HATE doctors, hospitals, the whole kit and kaboodle. Hell, I'd pull a coyote ugly and chew off my own puss infected arm over getting a shot against gangrene, hands down, every single freakin' time. However, even with-or perhaps because of-my mile long health file, I knew that formaldehyde burned. I set the half empty gas can next to a clearly marked gas line and a shelving unit with twisted blobs of organ tissue soaking in a sharp smelling, clear liquid. The tiny clear label on the organ jars read right: formaldehyde. God this was almost too easy. Call it strategic planning, but if I had to take on a decent sized necro master and all his little necro goonies, I'd rather take them out with a building than with my own two hands. Leaving the metal safety door open behind me, I continued my search, patting the matchbook in my pocket. No way I'd waste my lighter on this mess.

Ten minutes of following twists and turns of the hallway revealed a clearly unplanned…cavern…of sorts. The walls bowed and widened like someone attempted to shove a giant circular tube down an obviously square narrow rectangle of a hall. A long fluorescent light bulb hung from coiled metal wire; sending out sparks as it flickered on-off, on-off. The flickering light show lent the hallway an added feel of creepiness it didn't need. Lurking just beyond the dangling light was an unplanned crater filled with the blackest shade of ominous this side of hell. I sighed. This was the part I hated the most.

Something actually burrowed up underneath the hospital. That had most likely made the infection spread faster. One lone intern goes missing while searching for medical supplies in the basement or meeting up with their doctor boss for a little hide-and-fuck. Intern number two and three get sent to fetch intern one and from there the virus had its foot in the door. I could see the story of this place so clearly. It wouldn't take long for the hospital to be over run and from there, the entire town. Small wonder other nearby towns weren't already infected.

I had to get rid of the hive mind master, the necro master, and patient zero to the infection. Not that doing so would cure the infected townspeople in any way…but it would make dealing with them easier, once they had no higher consciousness to follow, nothing to 'activate' them into a manipulated horde. Finding out who-what-the master of this necro master was, that's the real icing on the cake. Find that bastard and then this would all stop, because that guy would be the real patient zero. The original source of the virus is far more important than this outbreak's viral host.

The artificial lights of man didn't shine far into the necromaster's cave. Even with whatever gifts-curses?-I'd gained over the years, I could hardly see more than a few feet past the edge of the light's reach. I took a breath, my thumb twitching, going to the silver ring on my middle finger and brushing it briefly. I rubbed it like the luck charm it wasn't, feeling a small sense of satisfaction that it was probably my only real ace in the hole. The necromaster was here. I could feel it, like a ghost whisper tickling my ear. Annoying yet seductive, hardly noticeable if it wanted to stay hidden.

My boots ground on broken floor tile and grit as I slowly made my way into the crater. I used a busted water pipe as a handhold as I slid down the steep, slick walls of the cavern. The farther I got from the light the more the air went still. Not dead still, but a poignant still, a hushed, waiting kind of still, a lurking still. The kind of stillness that only comes by watching someone die in a way they shouldn't. The kind of stillness that promises death in macabre, creative, and gruesome ways, like a black widow waiting for her groom on their wedding night. Bad things had happened here, the walls and the ground remember it and were drenched with the harsh, terrified memories of it...the stuff outside was only an appetizer for whatever happened here…and speak of being drenched with stuff…

The soil beneath my boots was squishy, swampy wet… Crouching I smeared a pinch of it between my fingers. The soil smudged like oil and smelled like road kill. Infection goo. A lot of it. The soil was saturated to the point where pools of black oil like substance had gathered. _What the hell is going on?_ I wiped the toxic goo off my fingers before rising again.

In the darkness, something growled deeply, warning me to back off. With a sign like that, I would have been an idiot not to listen to it. Slowly I backed up, watching the blackness. In about three seconds, I would have been either deadish or running for my life. The sound of that growl was big, the throat that made it was probably bigger. I was dealing with a mid level zombie then, if we're going to judge this beastie by size alone. _Dammit. This isn't going to go down in a quiet way_. I couldn't take on a giant that size in such a small little hallway.

… … … … _Good thing smart girls plan ahead._

The thing in the darkness hissed, growling deep again, sounding more pissed and animalistic than before. That was a sound you'd shoot someone you were going to kill. The thing moved, slowly, its outline rippled in the dark. It edged forward until its face was revealed. A leering lion's face, spiked horns, the black ooze of the infection leaked from its left-blind?-eye. It's maw and nose were coated with layers of wet blackness, infection leaked from its nostrils. A stone fell from my stomach to my heels, making everything between the two hurt with a sudden realization that this was not good. This was _very_ not good. In fact, this was very, very _bad_. Bad enough to make me wish I'd been able to fully master aura manipulation this last decade.

A demon.

The necromaster was a demon. _What the Fuck? What does that mean? Vergil, you son of a bitch…_ The demon leered at me, revealing a maw of nice pearly white, red, yellow and black gems. I suppressed a gag in the back of my throat. I had no problem taking out this fugly prick, it was his master I had an issue with. _What the fuck, why is there an infected demon here? If I kill this prick, his master will make it a personal goal to gut me like road kill. Vergil Fucking_ _Sparda, so this is your doing then?_ This revenge on Loki thing just got a whole hell of a lot more ass-grinding difficult. I grit my teeth, taking a slow breath to calm my heart rate.

"Not human, you," the demon's voice was deep and garbled, droplets of blackness spitting up onto the ground as he spoke. _Well ain't you a charmer?_ "I, brother to Berial, second in the fire hell," The demon continued. It bowed its giant head towards me. Was that a gesture of respect? Seriously, what the fuck? "One source requires you, non-human." One source? What's a one source? This virus, it wasn't entirely all that it's cracked up to be, you know? This thing, this demon, it's a mid to high level zombie, but he'd obviously lost a few marbles along the way…hell he'd lost a little bit more than a few marbles…

"One source?" I asked, raising an eyebrow. I wished I still smoked. I could use a cig right now. I guess you know what they say about smoking, smokers never quit. Not really.

"With your blood, the one source will become all powerful. Become one with me, one with the one source, one, one, one," the demon rumbled, half babbling, more black spittle falling from its maw. Obsidian droplets ran over its yellowed teeth, coursing over rotting gums before saturating the ground like human waste. I stifled another gag. _At least my up chuck response time is still good…_

"Um...ah…hey what did you say your name was?" I asked as I slowly continued to back up. The demon puffed his chest up, its good eye rolling in my direction.

"I am Carrion, brother of Berial, second-"

"In command of the fire hell, yeah got it," I said, slightly annoyed. I thought for a minute, sizing up Carrion. He wasn't the brightest crayon in the box, but we knew that already. Yeah this was the current necro master for this town but the virus is eating away at any higher level of reasoning this demon may have had at one time. Carrion wasn't lucid enough to be a full-blown high-level necromaster. He was just a mid level tool. Hell even physically speaking, Carrion was falling apart. Large patches of his lion's mane had fallen away, revealing bald spots with oozing sores. One of those green yellow pussing wounds was centered just above his good eye. _Damn, no leads here…_

"Well, I gotta say thanks for the offer but I'm not interested," I said. I gave the demon a slow smile, shrugging. Carrion watched me with dulled eyes. I rocked back on my heels, putting my hands on my hips. I spoke slowly for him. "In fact you are fucking disgusting Carrion. That one source of yours is probably one ugly bastard as well. I wonder if he's going to bleed the same way you do."

Carrion's eyes rolled skyward after a moment, as he processed what I had just said. It started low at first; his throat and the sloughs of skin hanging around his neck bones trembled with it. It grew louder, a low-pitched wavering sound. The demon laughed. _Laughed_. _Little bastard, laugh all you want, you're still one dead sniveling bitch..._

"You could not hurt the one source," Carrion chucked. _Ah but I can hurt you, ugly._ I cracked my knuckles, feeling the space between my shoulders tense with anticipation. Carrion eyed me, his one eye still oozing black disgust. "You are nothing more than a mere mortal caught in the tapestry of what must be. Now come. Evolve." Carrion extended a paw to me, as big as my body. There was black and red underneath the demon's massive claws and he was missing one of his digits. Nothing but the boney, pussing stump was left over. He smelled like week old road kill moldering on a hot day_…I think I'm gonna puke._

"No." Was he not paying attention to the whole 'killing your infected ass' part?

"You will come," Carrion repeated, not smiling this time. "I will not harm you." _Bullshit._ How far would Vergil go? How far would he go to get me dead again? Why is a demon infected? It was my understanding that only the human realm had been affected. That meant humans, vampires, and the fey. There shouldn't be any infected demons…

"And I said, 'no'." I retorted easily.

"The one source demands it," Carrion roared, the necro virus screaming black in his veins now as his anger rose, "You will come." His left eye, the one that was leaking the infection, now turned obsidian black. The veins near the skin's surface trickled with infection too, showing a web of darkness on the thick, scarred demon hide. The infection was rearing its ugly head. How like a demon to make demands. Get a clue. 'No' means no.

"Fuck. You." I said smoothly as Carrion lunged. I launched myself sky high, flipping backwards while narrowly avoiding the demon's maw. I landed on the edge of the crater Carrion created when he clawed his way up from hell. I teetered, arms wind-milling, on the edge between safety and demon meal. That was an almost cool move, thwarted by but a mere inch of missing, tacky green grey floor tile. Carrion's face bashed into the side of the crater as he roared in blind rage, too pissed to control himself.

The reverberations of the impact shook every inch of the building, forcing me backwards until I landed square on my ass. Smooth. I got to my feet just in time. Carrion was scrabbling out of his cave, dragging his sorry half eaten ass behind him. Turing I took off, full throttle. _Time to run like hell._ I reached for the matchbook in my back pocket. Always have an ace up your sleeve.


	6. Stronger than Mustachio

Another update. Onimusha reference in this chappie. BTW, anyone catching these zombie easter eggs I'm leaving behind? XD

* * *

**No Mercy Hospital-Lobby**

**Lauren**

Surprisingly Leon and Sarah were in the main lobby I had left them at. Did it really take me an hour to get through the basement? My boots pounded on the ground and I could see another horde swarming the hospital doors. Oh, so that's what it was. Leon and Sarah had already managed to barricade the doors, but it wouldn't last. Barricades never did. Besides, I could have named something a little bit more dangerous than a horde of flesh eating zombies to worry about. A demon wasn't the only thing chasing me to the lobby. There was also a nice thick cloud of dark smoke wafting its way through the stair well. It was only a matter of time before the generator went.

"Lor!" Sarah yelped in surprise as I grabbed her arm and spun her to face me. I flinched on instinct before thinking better of it. A cold, dark tube was pressed in the general vicinity of my right eye. Is that a gun? _Why the hell is this greenhorn sticking it in my face?_ Blinking, Sarah moved the gun barrel, pointing it in the relatively safe direction of the ground. I gave her a very dirty look. Sarah swallowed, going a tad bit pale under her red bandanna as she clicked the safety on. I sighed, turning to catch Leon's attention.

"Time to move!" I shouted over the screaming necros, jerking Sarah into run. I headed for the stairs. We had to go up. It was the only option left.

"Leon move your ass," I snapped as I pushed Sarah towards the stairs. The stupid boy was still popping off rounds, dropping the regular zeds with no problem. He should save his ammo. I came to a halt at the base of the stairs. Sarah's shoes were pounding hard on the floor, echoing in the stair well. Leon hadn't moved yet. I could feel the ground reverberating as Carrion made his way to first floor, destroying dry wall and wooden frame supports in the process. Things were going to start quaking. Better to be on the top of the mess than under it. Sarah halted, half way up the first tier of steps.

"GO!" I shouted at her. "Get to the roof! Don't stop for anything!" Sarah glanced back once at Leon and I. With a nod, she was gone, her sneakers squeaking as they pounded on and upwards. I crossed the lobby in five steps. My hand slammed down on Leon's arm and I jerked him off balance. I half-carried, half-dragged him part way to the stairs. He looked to me in surprise, his thumb automatically switching the safety back on, before he regained his footing. At times like this, it was hard to control myself. I continued to drag him to the base of the steps before letting go.

"Move your goddamn ass, army boy," I hissed, "the generator is faulty and we don't want to be here when it explodes." Leon said nothing as I gave him one more shove towards the stair well. He looked over his shoulder as Carrion barreled into the hospital lobby. Glass and the limp, rag doll bodies of the zombies flew through the entryway. Carrion roared, his voice edged the acoustics of the stair way with a deep ear-splitting grumble. Leon grunted, the palms of his hands going to his ears. A throb started in the center of my forehead. _Motherfucker, put a damn sock in it._

Carrion was cut off mid growl. A heavy explosion rocked the hospital, making Leon and I stumble. The force of the explosion threw Leon and I aside, pushing us down with its wind force. A stair lip dug into my shin as I clung to a handrail, the headache was gone but my backside was roasting. Beneath my legs the cement was starting to heat up. _Not exactly according to plan but whatever… _Grunting I pulled myself up as Leon got to his feet. Briefly we glanced at each other. With a sigh, I pulled on the handrail one more time, pushing my feet and aching shin into a run. We had to get up stairs. Leon was right beside me.

One last glance over my shoulder revealed a bomb-blasted lobby. Glass shards were everywhere, flame licked at the carpet and the overturned gurney. Half the horde would be K.O.'d by the time Carrion would have figured out we're no longer there. Carrion's weight and momentum knocked down the remaining zombie survivors like bowling pins as he pulled his hulking mass out gapping steel frame that remained of the hospital's basement doors. The zitches were nothing more than bags of blood and bone hitting the ground like rotten melons as Carrion barreled past them. Flames and smoke filtered through air already saturated with dust, making it harder to breath. There was way too much smoke for a small carpet fire. A wing of the hospital must have caught on fire. Hell, half the damn town is in flames_. I wonder if the gas line has been hit yet_… _Damn, I'm getting good_. It almost makes up for falling on my ass before.

"What the hell was that?" Leon demanded as he reloaded his gun on the fly, switching the safety off. We were only on the third floor platform. We took the steps two at a time.

"A big fucking infected, flesh-eating monster," I snapped, panting. "How many floors-?"

"Twelve," Leon replied curtly. "Sarah?"

"Went ahead." Carrion was following us. I could hear him, going slowly, as he clawed his way up the concrete poured stairwell tooth and nail. How long will it be before the demon decided to just climb up the side of the building rather than going through it? Or rather, how long till he figured out that was easier? We caught up to Sarah on the sixth floor. She had slowed down, taking the steps with each trudging leg lift. Lazy pain in the ass.

"Sarah," I barked, "Move!" What was left of the horde could be heard, hissing and screaming as they raided the stairs ahead of Carrion. Each new platform level had necro's pounding on the metal stairwell doors and oozing black on their tiny windows. Leon reached out and pulled Sarah into a run as we passed her.

"There will be an evac in ten minutes," Leon said, checking his watch. We were on the eighth floor now. _Shit how many more do we have left?_ "A helicopter will take us to safety." _Helicopter? So he is an army boy…_

"And how long before this place goes up in smoke?" Leon glanced at me. He wasn't expecting that question. His answer was immediate however.

"Virus contamination will be in forty minutes."

"Virus Contamination?" Sarah panted, her face red. "What?"

"Is it nuclear?" I interrupted her. _We need real info kiddo, not answers to your annoying bullshit worries._ Hell knows the government has been using their big guns with a gusto lately. At the rate they're using them, the nuc stockpile was wilting.

"No," Leon said. He glanced over at me again, his eyes trying to read some deeper meaning in my words. _Keep lookin' boyscout, cuz you'll get never the full story out of me._ "There's been too many outbreaks for them to use nuclear every time." I nodded.

"Nuclear? This place is going to be blown up?" Sarah demanded, her eyes widening. The dumb bitch actually stopped, mid-step, to gawk at Leon and I. Growling the two of us yanked her into a run again. We arrived at the eleventh floor with the horde still howling after us.

"So what about you?" Leon asked now. "What is that thing? Really?" _Always sharp as a tac aren't you, army boy?_

"Really?" I asked. "It's a demon." Lean sighed, barking out a weak laugh. Sarah had the decent frame of mind to go pale at that. Kid may be a green horn at combat but she's a pro when it comes to things that go bump in the night.

"Sure it is," he said grimly. "They all are." _Poor Bastard, he has no idea_.

"If only they were," I agreed.

**Vergil-hell**

His armor, though well cared for, clanked as he strode down the long decaying hall. He could hear the muffled laughter of Nobodies, crazed and inanely attempting to mimic human laughter. They were perhaps the few of the remaining demon clan members that still mistook him for a weak human. He suspected they would always do so. Nobodies were not known for their intelligence. However, there was no doubt in his mind that despite their disgusting habits and appearance, they too served a function of some sort.

Red eyes flickered in the dim light of hell. His shadow, though not that of a true demon's, seemed to carry a weight of its own. Not only did it mingle with the darkness of hell's shadows, at times it seemed to absorb them. Many rumors flew about hell of his shadow. Few dared mention his humanity. They knew him well enough by reputation if not by his brutal front door policy. It was a policy that grew particularly malicious when enacted on all those who refused to submit to servitude. Resistance was not an option and he was many years a senior to even the eldest of demons when it came to an expertise in pain.

Vali laid dead and slain five years past-now nearing a sixth year-and it had taken as much time to gain even a semblance of the control Vali had once maintained. As expected, with out a proper master, Hell's populace had fallen upon itself, every demon for its self in the hopes that it would come out on top. The treachery, debauchery, and thievery had known no bounds. It had been as if watching a pack of starving dogs eating each other alive. Those few clans of demons, all descended from a common ancestor and servants of the same master, now composed the remaining competing fractions. Each of the seven clans had already either absorbed or eliminated the many clanless rouges and renegades with blind, greedy ambitions by the time he arrived. It was easy, taking over one clan after the next. He had moved like a ghost through hell, eliminating clan heads in fair combat before taking their place and commanding their clan. There were only three clans left now-Lust, Greed, and Wrath-one of which had already been under his command for some time. It was useful to have the lusty delicate sucubi clan at his side. They made the best double agents.

It was only a matter of time before the remaining two clans would follow suite and concede their power to him. Once the Wrath clan buckled, the greed clan would be ball-less and spineless. Provided the head of the wrath clan demon lord was presented to them in the proper fashion. That all depended on the abilities of lovely Nevan, the lust clan general under his direct command. She would give him what he wanted, as she always did, or he would crush her and her kind beneath his boot heel. Her chambers lay just at the end of the hallway and her fate would be sealed in mere minutes.

It had been easy, gaining control of hell. Easier yet to maintain and tighten his iron clad fist, holding his domains in a chokehold. There wasn't a demon that so much as farted with out him knowing about it. Which, in retrospect was probably why they were attempting such a pitiful rebellion in the first place. Apparently there was something to be learned from the human world: push people-no, push a group, any collective group with conscious ideals-and they would break. Just as his demon kingdom was currently doing beneath him. Fair enough, lesson learned. There was more than one way to skin a cat, just as there was more than one way to rule hell.

There was a place for everything, order within chaos, if one was willing to take the time for it. These rebellions however, if one could call them that, were of two differing natures. The wrath, greed and Lust clan centered around a common figurehead. They were easily dealt with and passé in their entertainment value.

Yet the second rebellion he had on his hands was not the traditional type of rebellion. They were not rebellions centered on a common figurehead, on a demon master who'd somehow managed to garner himself a gathering of lackeys. These rebellions didn't hold a single granule of tradition hell had its founding base in. These rebellions left members of his bottomless well of an army severely decimated. One out of every ten either torn apart, unaccounted for-simply vanishing with out a trace-or their corpse would be found gnawed upon like a chew toy. It wasn't uncommon for such things to happen, but to happen on such a wide scale? Of course, with the infection…. Could this rebellion be the work of a singular demon gone rogue? Highly unlikely, yet the thought of a _group_ of demons that had gone rogue…

Who would have thought it possible? An underground _resistance_ of demons united behind a singular cause? It was unfathomable. Correction, it was damn near impossible. Or so he had thought. He since stood corrected, having caught one of the would-be rebels. Or at least something that should have resembled one of them. The creature was of little value however, as its dementia was too far gone and he had been unable to gather any sort of valuable information before putting it down. The infection the demon had bore reeked of that death scent, that _damn_ _woman's_ scent. He would know it anyways. Little Lauren. She had survived.

Not that Lauren would stand a chance in hell against him, were this done by her hand…but it wasn't. That much was clear. Lauren wasn't a strategically-minded person, she was a survivor. Nothing more, nothing less, and that alone was enough to contend with when facing her. Or so he recalled. Who ever lay behind this rebellion, the mastermind and his unknown foe, knew how to lay a good trap. Or at the very least, understood _his_ machinations well enough to pit hell against itself in their favor. A satisfied smirk twisted his mouth. So be it. It had been far too easy bending hell to his will. A foe-a skilled foe-now that would be, dare he even hope, _fun_. Someone who could out think him? Not possible, though he had to give the poor slob credit for trying. With all of hell as their chess board, it would be interesting to see his opponent's next move after this.

He paused, at the end of the hall now. Two succubi waited for him upon either side of the grand door they were guarding. Enryuu, a heavy flame sword taken from the cold dead hands of another half-breed, hung heavy in his hand as he regarded them. The blade had been part of the blood price that Halfling had paid. Vergil now wielded the blade with expertise its former master would never have possessed. He tightened his grip on the heavy sword, taking in the sight before him.

Both demoness glanced to each other-a twin image of her sister-sly smirks upon their perfectly formed mouths. Oh it was easy to guess what they thought of this visit to their mistress's hearth and home. Let them assume what they would, the shallow creatures. He didn't care to waste his time on them anymore than necessary. And quite frankly, as king here, why should he? They were beneath him unless he decided otherwise. And usually, he didn't. They'd since learned to live with it, their little egos hurt somewhat. Bah. Succubi.

The demonesses bowed, the tops of their perfectly formed breasts straining against their confining corsets. The long red silk sari's they wore did little to disgust the curves of their figures and more to highlight the porcine white of their skin and the deep black of their hair. If, in fact, the original intent of their clothing had been to cover up in the first place… Their elaborate hair ordainments and earrings tinkled in the vast empty hall as they rose again, moving with liquid movements to open the ebony door before him.

Wordlessly he passed over the threshold into the heart of the Lust clan's territory. It was the heart of his general's fiefdom, the succubus Nevan, favored only for her ability to seduce, fuck, and there in gain valuable information that clung to the spider webs in hallways of hell. The room before him was laden with deep red silks and the best bedroom finery that could be scrounged in both hell and earth. The lighting of the room was dim, allowing him only a glimpse of the mistress of the lust clan's silhouette, waiting apparently for his arrival. The black, transparent material of the canopy hung from the bed, obscuring Nevan completely. A smirk pulled at his lips, revealing pointed canines. They were sharper and longer than they should have been. They certainly weren't the teeth of a normal human man, in any case.

"Welcome to my bed side, My Lord Sparda," Nevan crooned, her salty voice beckoning him to come forward. Of course, she wasn't half the demonness she should have been. She was still greatly weakened, slowly reviving her self, garnering strength from her soul arm for the time being. But she was a good negotiator and even better seductress, a commander of the legions of the Lust and vital to his plans. He would need her skills to prod his foe into revealing himself. The amerhurst flickered quietly at his wrist, complaining at its neglect. Nevan laughed, her voice throbbing with want, injecting it into the air like a poisonous mist.

"I can only imagine what brings you to my quarters, lord, but come. Dally a while, my dark prince, and then we shall speak of other things." Now wasn't that her well used catch phrase. Behind him the ebony doors closed silently. Was this fool attempting to bespell him?

"Come, son of Sparda," Nevan crooned, the silhouette moved behind the transparent material, as suggesting as it was inviting. He knew better. How dare a defeated weakling ply her trade to one such as him? He grinned now, lips drawn back to show white, hard teeth. He would tear her apart, slowly, if she had failed him. "Or must you be the dull Jack and insist on nothing more than the pleasure of my words?"

Enryuu flickered forward in a haze of yellow-orange heat. The edge of the great blade came to a halt as quickly as it had begun its assault, teasing the scant space just above Nevan's pallid bosom. Her hand paused, resting at the flat plane of her stomach, just below the swell of breast. Fiery red tendrils of hair tangled between her fingers and soft flesh, caught and intertwined in such a way that only a succubus could capture. The black material of the canopy, suspended by the bed's footrest fell to the ground, sheared in half and slowly crumbling to ash.

"I would be careful were I you," Vergil replied. "For you have had far too much and I, not nearly enough." She dare assumed to know his mind? There was something to be learned from this. Lust was easily manipulated given the right amount of influence. That could both work for and against him, given time.

"As you wish, my lord," Nevan bowed her head coyly to the side, her coiled red hair tickling the faultless flesh of her cheek. Demure eyes regarded him calculatingly as her hand dropped to the silky smoothness of the bed sheets, gathered below her hips and between her legs. Tenderly, she massaged the fabric with soft finger tips. "We will begin at once. Please, I beg of you, allow me to serve your will. I bear you news of the wrath clan…"


	7. Faster Than Mustacio

Sorry for the wait on the weekly update. To make it up, there's two new chappies this week. :) Enjoy!

* * *

**No Mercy Hospital Roof**

**Lauren**

Luckily, surprisingly, thankfully, the roof was clear of any necros. I didn't think Leon, Sarah, or I had enough breath between us to put up a decent fight. Leon pulled out a grenade from nowhere and threw it down the stairwell behind us. _Where the hell was he storing that baby at?_ Sarah panted, hands on her knees as he slammed the roof access door shut. I grabbed Sarah by the neck and ran for it, towards the helo pad, nearly dragging her across the length of the roof. Leon was right behind us as the building shuddered beneath our feet and the roof access door was blown sky high. The three of us went flying from the explosion. _What the fuck kind of grenade does that?_

I landed hard, scraping my arm across the jagged surface of the roof. Shakily, I got to my feet, head spinning and ears ringing. That was a loud explosion. Leon had his feet under him before he turned to Sarah, offering her a hand. _Am I losing it, or is that the sound of shattering glass? _The building continued to quake; trembling under the abuse it was receiving. _That was quicker than I thought it would be._ I moved to the edge of the building. What I saw when I looked down was exactly what I was hoping for. Carrion had kicked it into sixth gear. Every move he made left a creator sized gouge in the side of the hospital. At the busted hole of a stairway, the dead crowded, moaning and screaming, angry and hungry. Desperately they clawed the air, wishing for a way to cross the chasm Leon had created. Goddamn, why was it louder out here than it had been in there?

"How long till evac?" I asked, shouting. My own voice was muffled to my ear.

"Now," Leon shouted back, nodding to a helicopter hovering some 200 feet away. Right below, from over the edge of the building, Carrion was waiting. Forty minutes until the place was scorched from the surface of the earth, that's not a whole lot of time. I needed answers. Where did this virus come from? Who was Carrion's necromaster? Why the hell was a demon infected in the first place?

"Sarah, take this." I tossed her my pre-paid cell phone. "Go with Leon." Sarah's eyebrows crinkled together in confusion. We'd already discussed this. Sarah had memorized the number to my cell phone. She knew to only speak if I spoke first. There were only two people in the world that knew the number to that phone. That's the way I wanted to keep it. "I'll be calling, so keep it charged okay?" I turned to Leon.

"Take care of her for me," I yelled to Leon. He flinched, jerking towards me. "She's got enough of that viral shit on her to be infected. You have immunities. Or something like that, right?" At least that's what I had heard on the news.

"You're staying?" Leon asked carefully, his voice as personal as he could make it. He was slowly edging towards me, ignoring the descending helicopter. "You know we've got a vaccine. You don't have to jump."

I smiled at him. _Wow. For real?_ _Why couldn't I find men like this in a normal situation?_ Leon really was a boy scout. One with a gun, but a boy scout all the same. He didn't understand. Poor boy. He's already seen a lot of nasty things in his life but he doesn't even know the half of it. I was like him once. I didn't believe because I had never seen. Now that I saw, it was hard to understand what it was that I did on a day-to-day basis.

On the other hand, Leon thought I was going to jump. … … … …_smart boy_. Very humanistic of him to be so empathetic towards someone he just met in the last seven hours. I wondered if there's a story behind that and then I laughed at the thought. Of course there was, wasn't there always a story?

"Nah," I shrug. "I've been immunized. I've got my own evac coming, but they won't take her," I said nodding to Sarah. "Not enough room. I have forty minutes, that's more than enough. I need to get across town to the church." White lies. Leon didn't believe them for a minute.

The sound of the helicopter killed anything else that Leon might have heard. I edged to the side of the hospital, keeping my distance from Leon. He was tense, but drew his gun, as if that would have stopped me. I could practically see the thoughts scrolling through his head. Around us the small town of Hope, Arizona burned in a dark glow of carnage and destruction. The faint light painted weird shadows on his face. Looking at him, really looking at him, I was shocked to realize that for all his bravado and impersonal command he was as old as I was. Wariness clung to the shadows of his eyes. The mental strain this job was putting on him was deep as it was tragic, no doubt the scars of his psyche were as gruesome as my own were. I took a deep air, tasting the dust of the dust of the burning town and the desert that lay beyond it.

Leon took another step forward. Easily, I jumped onto the roof's ledge, turning my back on the burning city and the hot gritty, smoky air. A small, cool breeze carried the smell of charred, cooked human flesh as it gently cooled the sweat slicked skin of my forehead. Another round of explosions rocked the hospital. Sarah actually went down on a knee trying to keep her balance. She hadn't moved since I tossed her the cell phone. The chopper waited, hovering, the pilot screaming out the window from his seat. The zombies-that goddamn ravenous horde-were still moaning, still screaming to be fed. Behind me Carrion was making his way up the side of the building, one concrete filled fist at a time.

"You don't have to do this," Leon said, his gaze moving from me to the edge of the building and back. I glanced over my shoulder. I could see Carrion. Surprisingly he was near the ground floor still. A kick of psychic energy must have flashed between us because Carrion looked up at that exact moment. His black infection goo eyeball pin-pointed me. Carrion's face twisted into a line-filled snarl of wrath. Roaring, Carrion lunged, grappling with hard metal and concrete as his demon claws slammed into the building. I had about two and a half minutes before Carrion made it up here. I thumbed the ring on my middle finger.

"Yes I do," I retorted dryly. _Puleez, save that hero shit for some one who actually needs it._ My thumb flicked the ring off my middle finger with a practice twitch. I held it in my hand now, a metal scythe, Maelstrom. The weapons was the stolen soul arm of a death goddess, Loki, my biological bitch of a mother. If he didn't believe then, he would when I begin to use this thing. I leveled my gaze, letting the weight of my aura carry into my eyes. I spoke carefully.

"Get into the helicopter Leon. Take care of Sarah. I'll be coming for her sooner or later. Don't let her out of your sight." Leon didn't move, but he glanced over his shoulder. He was trying to process what he just saw, hesitating when all his training was screaming at him to do otherwise. Another demon born 'explosion' rocked the building. The helicopter hovered, waiting in anticipation. Sarah was already in the helicopter, saving her own ass. She hadn't signed up for this shit and there was no way she should have to deal with it. Good for her. Beyond that, the roof access smoked, the horde was beginning to claw its way out of the rubble in the stair well. Their bloody mouths were open and their dead eyes pinned on us. Somewhere in the mix I could hear the unearthly scream of some zombie that was more mutated than the rest.

"Go," I snapped, annoyed now. "I have things to take care of and you're wasting my time." Leon hesitated, an eyebrow raising for a moment more before he sprang into action. He ran back to the helicopter. One of his arms wrapped around Sarah's waist, throwing her back onto copter as he got in. The bird took off, leaving Hope, Arizona in the dust. _I hope Sarah will be okay_. Her face watched me as she knelt on the floor of the copter. She clung with a death grip to the side of the door and a near-by seat. At her side, Leon had a hold on an overhead handle. I raised my free hand, my only good-bye gesture to Leon and Sarah should I fail. The copter circled, gaining altitude and stirring up the grit-infested air.

_Right, now I can have me a good ol' time_. I could hear Carrion bellering, his voice louder than any necro's. He's got to be what? Maybe half way up the building by now? _Impatient bastard._

I leaned backwards, keeping my gaze on the circling helicopter. Then I was falling head first. I glimpsed Sarah and Leon both leaned forward, struggling to get a last look as the chopper circled. I could see fear lighting up Sarah's eyes, her face a mask of disbelief. Leon's face was hard as he watched. Those two are going to miss one hell of a show. I was weightless as I begin my downward spiral, wind screamed in my ears. Glass shattered from heat and flame as the hospital building began to submit to its abuse. Just as I thought, Carrion was right where I wanted him to be. Tilting my head, I got a good look at him.

The demon was surprised that I was coming to him. He stayed were he was, his claws dug into concrete and metal as he screamed up at me. He was shouting profanities, but I couldn't hear them. The sounds of a tortured, revenge driven city filled my ears. The snapping and crackling of untended fires, the rush of gritty wind, the desperate hungry call of the undead, the wet sounds of mouths chewing on red meat, even the echoing cries of those who had perished to this madness; all of it found a way to my ears. Those sounds, those smells, those sights, it made my blood boil. What can I say? I don't speak idiot demon tongue. I speak chaos and mad logic. The wind was whistling in my ears, demanding vengeance be paid blood for blood. _Baby, you're ass is mine, you got that?_

Drawing my knees in, I flipped, going feet first. My boot heels ground into the demon's black eye. It popped like a bubble, spraying snotty disgusting black virus gunk everywhere. Somersaulting, I flipped again-dive bombing-going with the momentum gravity was kind enough to give me. My precious, stolen Maelstrom arced out, the tip grinding against bone and flesh and hard demon hide. Black rained down onto the waiting horde seven stories below us as I cut Carrion wide open.

I opened a career-ending wound in Carrion's back. The slit was as long as he was, starting at his shoulder and crossing over his spinal cord. It severed all his ribs and a portion of his pelvic bone. When I ran out demon ass to carve up, I yanked maelstrom free, ripping the narrow confines of the demon's putrid flesh. Then I was simply falling. I could hear Carrion screaming in pain, drawing more and more of the horde to him in his frenzied state. By now half the town of Hope had gathered at the Hospital with the other half of them on their way. Such was the power Carrion held over the infected.

Maelstrom lashed out again, etching a new line into the side of the building and gouging out my own share of concrete. I came to halt, my feet braced against the building as I took in my handiwork. Black infection fell like a waterfall now, slicking Carrion's hind haunches. Carrion's insides painted the hospital wall, falling from the cavern of his side. It was only a matter of time before everything came down like a house of cards

With all that infected blood and bodily damage, the demon began to lose his grip on the side of the building. It was a weakened Carrion that just able to keep himself from falling. Demons are tough mother fuckers to kill. However, the hospital had had enough, the abuse it had taken couldn't stand up to Carrion and I. Gravity-that demanding bitch-took over again and Carrion fell, cement embedded under his claws as an entire side of the hospital collapsed on itself. I really was getting better at planning….except …things only fall in one direction and now I was on the bottom of the pile. _Crap._

More chunks of the hospital joined the free fall, adding into the infection heat-storm engulfing this artificial hell. I might have actually stood a chance in hell if it hadn't been for the falling demon and him taking out half the hospital in the process of dying. Somewhere in the building something exploded, throwing a nice shower of glass into the mix. Dust and smoke was so thick in the air I could hardly breath, let alone see. Carrion clutched at the cement like a kid clutches his toy, refusing to submit to his fate until the dice had been thrown.

The wind was knocked out of me and I lost my hold on maelstrom's shaft. The blade shrank back into its smaller ring form, sliding onto my finger as I fell. _Stupid weapon._ Wheezing, all I could do to protect myself was to tuck into a ball and pray I didn't land on badly placed pipe. _Shit. This is going to hurt._

**Vergil-Hell**

It did little in the way of surprising him. By now, he was used to the curvature of fate. The round-abouts life took to circumnavigate simplicity and peace were nothing more than matter-of-fact statements to be dealt with as they arose. Life was naturally chaotic, this-and only this-was the only constant of living. Before him the members of the Greed clan groveled. With soul arms placed above their heads, they bowed, their collective maws touched the ground taking in the shit and blood that coated it. He glared over the cowering masses begging for their useless lives. At his side, Nevin too watched the scene. The ancient whore had been his only ally-if one could call her that-at this….this…atrocity of a battle.

The greed clan had buckled under the pressure of his mere _presence_. The greed clan's leader was missing…gone rogue. With no figure-head to stand behind, his arrival had been the final blow. How utterly unsavory. The lord of the underworld growled in the back of his throat. An example would be made out of the fool that had been the greed faction's leader. Hell was that much closer to being his…save for one thing.

"Bring me Carrion." His voice, his growl, carried over the hush of the battlefield like a bloody wave. None stirred, save to tremble

"My Lord, Nelo Angelo." At his feet, the rasping voice of a warrior drew his attention. The demon bore a stump were his right arm should have been. Deep cuts lined his face. It was a hulking demon, one of the many creatures that inspired nightmare-like lore in the human world. Scales rippled down its being, glimmering with dark sheen. Upon a belt, the demon carried the colorless skulls of human children. The fleshes of the demon's trophies were pallid and blue, the eyes rolled back in their sockets.

"You are?" He demanded.

"Festivus, My Lord." Knotted, tangled hair held the children's heads to the belt. The children swayed, rocking back and forth, as Festivus lumbered to his feet.

"Carrion…is no longer with us."

"How so?" Nevan demanded, barking, when Vergil failed to respond. Festivus's gaze turned to Nevan, taking in the pallor of her flawless skin. A dark light entered his eyes however, and the demon continued his tale.

"Carrion is no longer himself when he left. He was attacked by one of our brothers, Klym. When Klym attacked Carrion he was sick with rage and hunger. A blackness unlike anything found in our world was consuming Klym. It ate at his blood and his soul. It addled his mind. Our lord Carrion eliminated Klym only to become ill with the same sickness. As he left, he did bear me this wound." Festivus paused, turning his gaze from Nevan to the new ruler of the underworld. "I see in myself the same madness as was in Carrion, My Lord."

Enryuu was heavy in his hand as Vergil turned to Festivus. The demon did not show fear. He was a true warrior.

"Carrion was making his way to the human realm," Festivus finished.

"You are released from your service," Vergil commented. Enryuu came down, cleaving the demon's skull in half and cauterizing the wound. Lifeless the demon's body fell limply from the edge of the blade. Turning, he took in the shuddering masses. _Pathetic._ This was not the hell of lore. This was not the bloody palace of nightmares he once knew. Carrion. His hands and his hands alone would deal with the bastard demon. How dare a lower creature make an insult of his noble gestures? "Search them all," Vergil barked out to the waiting troops. "Slay any with this blackness. You," he growled to Nevan, "You're to come with me."


	8. The Passing

Don't forget the time, I wooed him with red wine

The Devil, He wore such a fine, fine shirt

It stayed so clean while he dragged me through the dirt

Now honey, don't trust anyone who looks you in the eye

Don't take any kindness; it's a demand in disguise

Rocks & Water, Deb Talan

**No Mercy, No Pain**

**Lauren**

I didn't know how long it took me to get to my feet. Not forty minutes, surely, but long enough to make getting out of Hope an issue. It had been nothing short of dumb luck, but there were no major slabs of concrete piled high on top of me. I staggered to my feet, my left leg throbbing. My head hurt, blood was trickling down the curve of my jawbone from a cut on my cheek. I spat blood out as I dusted off the glass and concrete rubble. _Gotta say, I haven't done that in a while._ There were three-inch long glass shards sticking out my left leg. _That would explain the pain._ _Goddammit._ It hurt, but I couldn't take it out. The scent of blood would have drawn a necro horde. I flicked off the ring again, the silver moonbeam scyth flickered into existence. The staff of the weapon was red as an ember, reflecting the fire torn city around it as I stumbled, making my way out of the ruins that had been a hospital once. I leaned onto Maelstrom, gritting my teeth. _Pitiful, using a death scythe as a crutch. Whatever, beggers can't be chosers. Just for a moment to rest…then I have to haul ass out of this hell-hole._

I got my head together. A fine layer of dust now complimented the black goo stains my jeans and t-shirt. _I need to find a new line of profession_. The horde that had been trying to get into the hospital had been crushed into a fleshy organ pile, their insides smattered all about the place. The fires still raging inside the rubble pile of a hospital hissed from sheer number of intestines smothering the flames. All of them had been crushed to pulp when Carrion fell from the hospital. I cracked my neck, second time in half an hour, feeling the tension in my neck and shoulders complain. _I hurt now, but I'll probably hurt more tomorrow_. _Sweet._ I picked my way through dismembered human parts and black infection blood piles towards Carrion's mangled body. _Nice to know I'm not the only one that got hit by that bus. _

The sphinx-like demon was sprawled out on his back and barely breathing. _A good sign._ Several metal pipes and steel framing rods were sticking up through various parts of the demon, impaling him in place. The ones in his neck and his right leg look particularly painful. The wounds had actually torn through the flesh to the point where muscles had exploded out of the wound like rotten melons breaking open on a hot summer day. I made my way to his head, slowly. The demon watched me with his one good eye, his breathing labored.

"The one, the one," Carrion tried to speak in a wet voice. I stared at him with cold, merciless eyes. Blood and sticky ew dribbled down his chin as he struggled to speak.

"The one," Carrion moaned in a gruff voice, his one good eye was half lidded and beginning to gain a smooth marble look. _But you're far from dead ain't ya?_ _That fall take the spite fire out of you, big guy?_ I'm too worn out to be a bitch though. I need to finish this task and get the hell out of dodge, but I have no idea how I should go about killing this prick. Usually, for low-level zombies, cutting the spinal cord does the trick. I had never dealt with a zitch demon before. Demons, uninfected demons, can heal like the energizer bunny runs marathons. I wouldn't be surprised if this mother of a bastard got back up again. I'd be fucked, for sure, but I wouldn't be surprised.

Carrion watched me limply as I hefted Maelstrom onto one shoulder. He was slouched against a large portion of the hospital, his head completely free from any obstacles. _Nice to know something is going well tonight_.

"The one," Carrion started, a low growl in his throat. "The one." _The one? The only one you're visiting is a bitch of a miser when it comes to paying your dues. I hope you come back reincarnated as a fucking cockroach. _

"Shut the fuck up," I growled_._ I brought the blade down hard into his good eye socket. The eyeball itself was nothing more than oozing fluid and a flimsy membrane. However the blade went deep, the tip of it curving out of the exploding impalement wound in his neck. The demon didn't react, didn't twitch like the others did when they die. He passed quietly. Good. I'm tired of dealing with fruitcakes.

Using Maelstrom's curved blade, I pull the death scythe free and rehooked the blade deeper in his skull, the sharp scythe tip going in one ear and out the next. This time Maelstrom's curved pointed end didn't break from the confines of Carrion's corrupted flesh. I pulled hard on the blade, taking several large staggering steps to my left in the process. Carrion's head flopped lifelessly to the side, his dead punctured eye-holes following me. Together we made a 180 degree exorcist head spin. His neck bones snapped, crackled and popped until the head sat backwards on his mish-mashed shoulders. _I'll never get used to that gross grinding sound broken neck bones make._ I yanked Maelstrom free, tearing Carrion's face in two halves. _Stay dead you zombie fuck._ Panting, I took a step back to study my work. If it wasn't so satisfying desecrating his corpse, the sight of Carrion would have brought up last week's lunch and then some. I wiped the blood from my cheek with the back of my hand. The wound there had almost healed.

His arm-the unimpaled one-twitched. _Goddamn it._

I brought Maelstrom high over my head, my arm muscles screaming as I held onto the weapon's staff end. _If this doesn't work, I'm leaving the bastard to the missiles._ _I'm spending too much precious time on this freak of nature. _I bought the blade down hard and fast, sweeping it through the air fast enough to make it whistle. Carrion's head rolled two feet over rough uneven, craggy surface of the ground. The gory stump of his neck spurted some final black stickiness. Now he could be considered 'officially' dead. I spat on the headless corpse. _Mutha fucking zitch. _I leaned on Maelstrom again, still catching my breath. _A job well-_

I jumped, startled, my muscles twinging, warning me against sudden movements. Maelstrom leaped into my hand, as if summoned.

Where was it coming from? A distinct punctured sound. It's not the steady roar of fire, nor the near constant hiss of the necro'd townspeople, or the other numerous sounds of destruction that are like a constant lullaby in this dead zone. What was that? It wasn't a gunshot-that too is part of the melody this place sings-although it felt as loud as one when you're not expecting it. _That's…clapping?_ Some one was clapping?

_Applause?_ I gripped Maelstrom as I turned to face the source. My mouth dropped open and suddenly I didn't give a shit about the glass in my leg. _Bloody fucking necro'd hell…its…._The applaud was singular and deliberate. Not a golf clap, not a happy clap. A looooong drawn out, mocking clap. Oh shit…he was always like that. I growled low in my throat. _Why now? Why today of all days?_

"Well done Lauren." His voice was the same as it always was, unperturbed, easy going in a deadly I'll-fucking-kill-you kind of way.

"What hell hole did you crawl out of?" I spat back. He raised an eyebrow. Every inch of me was tense and not just from that tumble I took. This was real danger. The die and not come back again no matter how fucked up your genetics was kind of danger. He told me once, that I would never meet some like him. Not once in a million years. So far, he'd been right. There was no one like him. …Except maybe his brother, but his brother didn't kill anything and everything for fun. Vergil does.

"One could almost ask the same of you," Vergil commented. He cocked his head to the side. "I thought you were dead." He paused for a moment, his gaze traveling to Carrion's remains. "You did this on your own?"

He looked the way he had always looked, menacing as hell with an aristocratic edge of mercilessness. His hair was still spiked and he was wearing a black trench coat. The same pants and boots, a white business shirt that screamed stark white, highlighted against all the black he was wearing. _What happed to the stupid blue coat? Not evil enough for him?_ The metal clinking of his gauntlets echoes in the applause, looking positively evil with their spikes and hooked jointings. _I guess pricks do come with a warning sign_. Vergil studied me with those devil eyes of his.

"May I ask what your interest in my general was?" _General? General! Are you freaking kidding me? Of course that meat sack was his general. Why the hell wouldn't it be, right? Fucking karma. Fucking necros. What the hell is he doing here? Is he connected to the virus? How is he working with Loki? _Vergil was smart but using a virus to take over the world, it really didn't seem like his style…would he really do that? God how could I be so stupid…how could I think he wouldn't do something like this? _Really? Seriously? What, was hell not big enough for him? _I ground my teeth together, taking a breath. _Hold it, Lor, think about it._ Do I have proof that all this destruction…all these dead people…can be placed solely on Vergil? Kind of, but its nothing solid. Demons go rogue all the freaking time. Vergil could just be here for Carion. … … …. … … …_yeah and some day I learn to tap dance with the elves. Here's a better question: Do I care if I have proof? Hell no._ _Guilty until proven other wise._ Vergil waited patiently for me to answer him.

"No reason," I shrugged, coolly, "he was just in the wrong place at the wrong time." After ten years of lying, I think I'm getting better at masking my thoughts…not that _that_ means anything because Vergil-the dick-is staring at me with that expression he saves just for me. Those blue eyes see through steel and cut through diamonds. He's silently laughing at me as he crouches, dragging Carrion's severed head from the ground as he rose again, his hand twinned into the demon's mane.

"Would this have anything to do with it?" Vergil nods to Carrion's oozing mass of a face, or perhaps to the black gunk coating the wound like molasses. Does Vergil want to know if I'm the one involved with this virus? _Then what does he know? Or what does he think he knows?_ He has to know this virus is born from something dead. He has to know that those who are bitten change, save for the select few. He wouldn't be here otherwise, nor would he ask me about Carrion's face. How dare he even suggest…His being here is proof enough for me…but how _dare_ he imply I have anything to do with this.

"Fuck off, Vergil," I growled quietly. I held Maelstrom in two hands now, slowly falling into a defensive stance. This battle was going to be hard with a shard of glass in my leg. Hell, it would have been hard without the glass in my leg.

"Come now Lauren," Vergil dropped the demon's head and dusted his hands off, glancing at the sticky black residue with disgust. Carrion's head hit the ground with a wet sound, bouncing against sharp concrete edges and leaving a sticky wet trail behind as it rolled away. That weird cold feeling tickled my neck like needle points. Vergil's aura.

He was getting serious now and his aura was almost more threatening than he was. Like everything else about him, it could only be used to harm and intimidate others through his iron control of it. I growl, pooling my own aura. It was nowhere near as massive as Vergil's, but whatever…I won't go down without a fight.

"Don't be obstinate," Vergil commented, still smirking but otherwise impassive. His blue eyes flickered clear azule in the dark glow of the night, warning me that his patience was thin. Already. This city was going to burn missile style in less than fifteen minutes. I didn't have time to fuck around with this monkey lizard. I give him a sweet smile.

"Fuck off, please?" I asked sweetly, shooting him a glare.

"'Please?'" Vergil retorted coolly. "Since when did you learn manners? I knew you were a fool but not an idiot." _And I never thought some one I trusted would kill me._ I don't have time to play verbal fencing with Vergil. I only have fifteen minutes left before missile time.

"Monster," I said quietly, dropping the bad friend routine like the sack of shit it really was. Vergil laughed, crossing his arms … … … …_Disturbing…why is Vergil wearing his human skin right now? Shouldn't he be in demon form if he just came from hell?_ Come to think of it, has he been here in Hope, Arizona the whole time? Or did he really just come from hell? Why now? Was he at the other sites of infection as well? If so, I would have known…or at least I think I would have known.

"You never change Lauren," Vergil commented, amused as he took a step forward. I readied Maelstrom. Twelve minutes now. Maybe I'll die here…but at least I'm taking someone on the top of my shit list with me…in fact the more I think about it, the more I like the idea of taking Vergil down with me…

I blink. I swear that's all I do. Vergil was gone. _Shit_…

"Still making the same careless offers," Vergil whispered in my ear. The sudden feel of him so close was as frustrating as it was nauseating. I drew an elbow back, but it was pointless. He had the drop on me, but Vergil can be arrogant. Hopefully arrogant enough to misjudge? I wished.

I spun, bringing Maelstrom into a flurry of circular death. The blade was stopped so fast it felt as if I'd hit a brick wall with a twig. Vergil smirked at me, holding Maelstrom in one hand, not more than a pace away. His other hand was neatly folded into his pocket. I glared at him, lunging forward with a kick. The kick was a bust but I followed it up, chaining attacks together. I twisted my body over Maelstrom's staff, never letting go, aiming for his face with my right boot. Maelstrom was my damn weapon. _Leggo you asshole._

Vergil backed up, stepping just out of the line of fire and letting go of Maelstrom at the same time. Growling I brought up Maelstrom's other end, the spiked staff end. Vergil deflected the blow, Maelstrom's spiked end grating against his gauntlet and glancing off it with out so much as a scratch. He made his move then, his hand slamming down on my wrist, negating Maelstrom and an arm in one foul swoop. Well calculated. A signature trademark of Vergil.

With my free hand I punched him. It was a cross blow, but I hit him square in the jaw, hard enough to turn his head to the side. It was more satisfying than it should have been. He didn't release my hand and he hadn't stopped his damn smirking. He caught my gaze from the corner of his eye, not bothering to turn and face me head on.

His eyes, they're laughing, those sheer crystals. For the briefest instant, they flickered a deep mauve color, a violent crimson tinged the edge of his irises. It's that deadly amused look he saved just to intimidate, and he's looking at me with that expression. I snorted. That look was old hat. All it really told me was that he was serious now. Actually serious, and no longer fucking around. He'd face me head on, toe for toe now. The bastard was so arrogant he wouldn't waste the effort if he didn't think the fight was worth it. Good. I'm ready for a fight. _Bring it you fuck._

My left leg came up in a sidekick. Vergil blocked it with his own leg, the top of my foot hitting his thigh, before he yanked hard on Maelstrom's staff and consequently my arm. _Shit nuggets._ I stumbled off balance. Next thing I knew I was twirling in a circle. You'd almost think we were dancing by the way he was playing with me. Maelstrom's staff wasn't my ally anymore, now it was my bridle. I knew this move. He was going to use my own weapon to trap me. I let the soul arm dissolve into a ring again. Vergil released me, his hold on Maelstrom negated. _Now's my chance._

I swept low with a kick, using the circular momentum Vergil had given me. Before I landed the blow, Vergil's hand shot out, gripping my ankle. I wa dragged upwards to full stand, off balance. Vergil pulled me towards him, testing the flexibility of my leg span as he pulled my captured foot high and higher. The hamstrings of my legs were crying tears of blood. My boots slid across the rough ground as he pulled. I refused to give in, not allowing him to see the pain the move was causing me. Vergil raised an eyebrow. With out further ado, His fist slammed into my stomach.

_If at first you don't succeed….boy he'd listened in school that day_. Sucker punched. Newly made stars dotted my vision. I couldn't breath. I could only hear myself gasping for air. My knees went weak and in a second I would have been on my knees. _Goddamn his demonic genetics…_

One arm was twisted around my torso trapping both my arms and it wasn't long before something worse would happen. I struggled to breath, gagging as much as I coughed. _Stupid. Stupid, stupid, stupid. How could there still be that big of a difference between our fighting styles?_ I could feel him at my back, could feel his legs outlining mine. With his free hand Vergil played with the glass shard in my thigh. _God my stomach._ I could taste the faint metallic hint of blood in the back of my mouth. Those spikes on his gauntlets weren't just for show. A warm trickling sensation coated the lower portion of my stomach. Although the world spun, I stayed firmly trapped against him. _Déjà vu…why does this always happen?_

"_Very_ impressive Lauren." I could hear the smirk in his voice. He was enjoying himself again, reassured by his superiority. _Go fuck yourself you prick_. I gasped, finally, finally, finally getting in much needed air. I coughed, spitting up blood.

"This must hurt," he commented, wiggling the shard of glass in my thigh with the tip of a finger, "Its very deep." Yes it was deep. I swallowed the gag building in my throat. I refused to give him the satisfaction of my pain. _God, my leg. Cutting it off would be less painful. _

"Fuck you," I hissed.

"Later perhaps, if you're still conscious then," Vergil promised coolly, ever the paramount of cruel and unusual. "We have much to catch up on, do we not?" He ripped the shard out easily, taking a nice chunk of my leg with it. My cry was harsh as I doubled over in the pain. _God…fucking…damn…hurts…a lot...the bitch….owie… _I clenched my jaw together so hard I wondered if my teeth were going to crack. My throat hurt from keeping the rest of the screams inside. The sudden blood loss was more than enough to make me light headed. _Now I wish I'd gotten on that helicopter_. Less than five minutes before the bombs drop. At least he'll go down with me. That works. That works, I just want to be conscious for it.

Vergil fingered the wound, rubbing the grit and left over shardlets of glass into it, waiting. _I'm not telling him a damn thing. I have nothing to say anyways_. The muscles in my leg were screaming, threatening to go lame on me. A tear was beginning to form in the corner of my eye. I blinked it away. _Fucking bastard._ As always, Vergil elicited an answer from me, in the most painful manner on hand at the time.

"What would I have that you could possibly want?" I hissed, finally. Vergil sighed, as if disappointed.

"You know what I want, Lauren," he tells me softly. His thumb dug into the wound, nail first, enunciating and emphasizing his words far more clearly than any other form of communication could. I don't think about the pain. If I did it would be unbearable. Ha, now there's something bittersweet to think about. I choked out a chuckle.

"What are you going to do, Vergil? Kill me?"

"I've no reason to," Vergil replied. He paused, when he spoke next his voice was hard. "Yet." He tightened his hold on me as I sagged slightly, supporting my weight but only just. He wanted the added pressure on my hurt leg to be a constant, I think. However, since I couldn't feel my leg anymore, it was kind of a pointless tactic. My heart struggled to pound in my ears. _Too much blood_. His hands were like heated vices. The finger in my wound slowly felt around, tracing the edges of the gash. His touch moved to the area around the wound through the hole in my jeans, gently caressing the swelling bruised skin there.

"What did you do to my general?" his breath was warm on my earlobe. _What does it look like Sherlock?_ "Keep in mind there are many, many ways to die. Almost all of them slow and painful."

"I cut his fucking head off," I hissed. "Or did you miss that part?" _I murdered your fucking general you demonic piece of shit._ I don't add what I really want to say, 'and if it bugs you I did it on purpose'. He didn't have to know why I was really here if it meant I could piss him off.

"I know _what_ you did," Vergil agreed smoothly, his voice his soft and sweet and dangerous. Its _that_ intimate voice that tells you to run for the hills or leave the world as a red splotch on the ground…if you knew Vergil like I did….if you had any base instincts at all… Or at least the brain power to figure it out. "But _why_ did you do it? _Why_ did you murder him? _Why_ are you _here_?" Vergil spoke slowly, as if I was an idiot child. Less than two minutes left. "What are your motives human?"

"My lord, something comes." Another velvet voice crooned. What? Who? I looked over to its source. What the fuck? A woman….no a demon…she gave off that weird demonic feel of pins pricking your skin. _She looks human…is she a half breed like Vergil is? Where the hell did she come from?_ Flame red hair trickled down to her lower back and giant ass tits, no top to speak of or any modesty, humility, etc. Was she a half breed succubus? _Great Vergil brought his fuck buddy. _

Her eyes were to the sky, as one of her hands played with the hair covering her left boob. I looked as well, but I couldn't see a damn thing. What was her whore dress made of? Was it shifting because I'd lost blood or…what? The cloth looked as if it was made of shadows, it shifted constantly, outlining the silhouettes of beasts. In her right hand she held Carrion's severed head.

One minute and counting. Either way you looked at it, I was fucked. I couldn't feel my blood soaking through my jeans and mingling with the black necro goo anymore. That couldn't be sanitary. My breath came in shallow gasps and I was starting to feel slightly nauseated.

"As you say, Nevan," Vergil replied. "You may find the familiarity of this uncomfortable Lauren, however I'm not quite done with you yet." He was laughing, mocking me. He'd been doing that since the moment I met him. I could hear the satisfaction in his voice. His hand went to the base of my neck. _Fuck_.

He squeezed, just at the base of my neck, blackness loomed in my vision. _The motherfucker_. A wave of blackness rippled down my spine along with the induced shock wave Vergil delivered. _Have to stay awake…but I can't feel my fingers…lightheaded…is it bloodloss or Vergil?_ _How strange to meet Vergil here and now. Freedom till death or maiming…which one does this situation fall under?_ I passed out in Vergil's pin, just as that last move was intended for. _I wonder if I'll ever wake up… … … … …_


	9. Just Like Old Times

LBHE chapter 8 coming to you before midnight saturday! Yeehaw, I'm getting better at this updating on time thing! XD Anyways...its awesome to see so many of you guys are still around! As always, enjoy!

* * *

**Lauren**

I came to out in the middle of no where, on my stomach and staring at a giant mushroom cloud silhouetting a cactus. _Where?_ The heat from the explosion traveled fast across the desert and a hot, gritty breeze made it hard to breath for a moment. The gravel and dirt pressed into my hips like tiny metal jacks. _Was that…Hope? _Coughing, I dug my nails into the ground, slowly scrabbling to my knees. _Owie._ It hurt to move. Everything hurt. _Pain, God's way of reminding you of a good ass kicking. _

"You humans and your toys." I froze on my hands and knees like a deer caught in a semi's headlights. "You treasure your technological prowess, yet you have little in the way of real power."

It was the soft sound, a female's crooning voice, inviting, sultry, husky. A voice of verbal seduction given a life of its own. Slowly I maneuvered myself into a sitting position, facing the speaker. It was Vergil's fuck buddy, that woman from before. I remembered her, shadows danced in her dress, making it move all on its own. _'My lord, something comes.'_

The demonness wasn't looking at me, but rather at the rising mushroom cloud that looked so atomic and nuclear it wasn't even funny. The light of bombed out Hope cast an orange glaze over her unnaturally pale skin. Her orangey-red, curly hair looked like is was on fire-as if it were part of the burning city in the distance-as she turned to size me up. The dark shadows of her gown ate up all the light Hope blazed with, crawling across her skins like insects, jellyfish, and slithering, creeping unmentionable things. Her gaze flickered to me, a cold unamused glare, indifferent and annoyed all the same. Every demon has that look, a look of detached engagement, of consistent self-interest balanced only by external amusement. I returned her glare with my own heated look and spat a wad of blood at her feet. Princess didn't like that.

A flash of pale leg emerged from her ever-shifting dress of darkness. Like lightning her foot hit me in the mouth. Hard. _I'm not entirely sure I saw that coming_. The blow rocked my head back, sprawling me out face first on the ground. Taking a hard breath, my tongue ran against the slick insides of my mouth. There was a brand new cut on my bottom lip, oozing blood like a waterfall. _Bitch…_ Growling, I glared up at her from my sprawled out position on the ground. Grunting I began to get to my knees again. Dust rose from the ground in mini-storm clouds, coated my blood and goo soaked jeans eeking into my wounds, as I struggled to rise again.

"Disgusting creature," the woman continued to glare down at me, taking a careful step over my red spit. Her 'skirt' rustled as she moved, revealing flawless ankles and bare feet. A silver hoop decorated one of her dainty ankle. She towered over me, watching me struggle with an indifferent gaze. I returned her look as I finally took a seat. _She looks pretty human…maybe she's like Trish…one of those demons that have human-like bodies… _I swiped the blood from my mouth with the back of my hand, giving the demon a defiant look.

"You should know your place, _human_," Nevan snarled. "How dare you show such an insolent gaze to your better." _My better?_ _Lady, fuck you._ I clenched my hand, feeling maelstrom in ring form. _She so much as touches me with her little pinkie finger and I'll rip her goddamn arm off._ She held up a pallid arm, her eyes a faint shade of violet. Electricity crackled, dancing between her fingers as her eyes began to glow a brighter purple color. Her aura prickled at the back of my neck and pinpointed across my arms. This demonness was strong, but she wasn't that strong. Not strong enough to piss on me and get away with it… … …_those eyes_…. I laughed softly to myself, spitting out more blood in the process. _Irony doesn't even begin to cover it…_

The demonness returned my laugh with one of her own. It was a breathy laughed, injected with want and lust. That laugh was all it takes. A porn star would be envious of the way that demon some how managed to induce desire, greed, and near submissive offering in a single sound. "Such a pity, but I only play with boy dolls," she told me, the tip of her tongue flicked out and licked the corner of her mouth. "You're too disgusting for my tastes." _Oh, you don't say, huh babe?_

"I knew someone with purple eyes once," I said, my voice hoarse and cracked. Satisfaction only made my voice sound twice as rough. "I tore her goddamn face off before cutting her into pieces."

"Fool!" Succubus woman hissed, pissed now. Her beautiful face melted away to reveal a snarling animal. She lunged, her electricity-filled hand dive-bombing for my face. _Time to lay my cards on the table._ Maelstrom flicked off my finger with out a hitch and succubus woman went still almost as fast as she began her assault. Maelstrom's curved scythe tip gently dug into the bottom of her chin, forcing her head upwards, until all she could see were the stars slowly being blotted out by the mushroom cloud.

"How do you feel about a jaw replacement, sweetheart?" I asked her gruffly. Succubus woman flashed a pointed animal teeth sneer at me but doesn't say anything. Her magenta eyes glared at me. I snorted. _Starting to get an idea of who you're screwing with now?_

"You're the fool, Nevan." Vergil's voice. _Shit, where is he?_ The two of us, Nevan and I, glanced over. He stood quietly behind us, just barely visible in the dying light of the bomb explosion. _God I didn't even feel his aura_. "You were so easily baited by a mere human. How degrading." Nevan hissed-either at me or Vergil-but unfortunately, was smart enough not to do anything. I encouraged her to remain still, by digging the point of Maelstrom's scyth edge into her chin a little more. Pinkish-blue blood trickled down the curved instep of Maelstrom and Nevan hissed under her breath. Vergil moved, his boots crunching over sun-baked ground, coming closer to us now.

"Are you going to kill her as well, Lauren?" Vergil asked calmly, studying the stand off between Nevan and I. _Could I kill her? Yes…and he wouldn't even care would he?_ "It would give you satisfaction, would it not?" He added. _Damn him._.. Even if his fuck buddy ate the big one it wouldn't get me any closer to getting the hell out of here.

"Fuck you, you sadistic prick," I growled at him. More blood trickled down my chin and I spat red out again. He was less than a pace away, stepping between Nevan and I. Nevan backed off instantly, maintaining a good three foot distance between herself and Vergil. I had to wonder…fuck buddies? Hmm…probably not by the way she was giving Vergil such a wide clearance. I'm willing to bet Vergil's using her as a servant or something… … … … … but they're probably still fuck buddies, the bastard… I tightened my grip on Maelstrom, letting the weapon drop until it rested on the ground, the blade ready to rend the sky in halves. My arm burned from the small time it took to threaten Nevan, just as it had in Hope. Not good, my body was nearing its limit.

"You keep making careless offers." Vergil's boot drove Maelstrom into the ground, trapping my hand beneath it. I grunted, as the staff of Maelstrom rolled into the palm of my hand, slipping from my fingers. I didn't counter the move. There was no counter to be made. I was already on my knees and bleeding out. I was at a disadvantage as it was. Vergil crouched, catching my chin between his thumb and pointer finger while his weight bore down on my hand. He studied me for a moment with those cold, unreadable eyes of his before speaking again. "Should I take you up on them?" I hissed, glaring at him.

"Not if you were the last living thing on the planet." He narrowed his eyes at me.

"You would have rather died, just a moment ago, than revealed the city was going to be incinerated. You want me dead that badly?" _No shit, Mr. Personality._ Vergil's face was hard to see in the dim light of the distant explosion. I couldn't read his tone either. Hope, Arizona now burned in the heat of a thousand suns. So many lives were lost. Anything that may have been living, dead, or somewhere in between the two, were now dust and ashes. I kept my mouth shut. Tit for tat, he never told me what they would do to my sister. He knew, _knew_, they would kill her and her baby. I didn't have to tell him anything.

Vergil released me, dropping my head to the side. His hand wrapped around my free arm in a vice grip. He rose, releasing Maelstrom from beneath his boot and dragged me to my feet. His thumb pushed hard into the fleshy inside of my arm, pinning the pressure point there perfectly. _Two can play at that game._

Maelstrom arced through the air, as if of its own accord. Vergil's hand slammed down on mine, holding both off to the side as the pointed tip of Maelstrom dug into his shoulder. _You're good Vergil, but I've gotten better, can't you see?_ Gripping my hand, he slowly and gently twisted them past the flexibility of my joints. I arced my hand forward as much as I could, digging the blade tip into his shoulder and drawing it against the flesh. Vergil ignored the pain, his face impassive. For several heartbeats it was a silent contest, his strength against mine, his pain versus mine.

"Foolish," Vergil growled quietly, tilting his head to the side. He continued to study me, those blue eyes taking in every detail. Pain rode up my arm as he continued to slowly twist it more and more. I grit my teeth but didn't give him the satisfaction of a grimace. I hooked Maelstrom a fraction more. My fingers tingled, turning blue.

"You have nothing to gain and everything to lose," Vergil commented, waiting. "I _will_ break your arm should you force my hand, Lauren." He would too. He'd stay this way, continually pushing my arm past any logical bearing. He would break my arm. It was a battle of wills, but as usual, he had the upper hand. The joints of my fingers and elbow cracked and popped, the only and last warning they would give before self-imploding. Any longer and I wouldn't be able to use my arm any more. Goddamn him. Wincing I let go of Maelstrom, feeling the sting of my lip and cheek in that small movement, letting the scythe slide back into its dormant state on my middle finger. _Everything to gain and nothing to lose? What the fuck does he know? I have nothing to gain…I have lost everything…and everyone…_

"Why did you murder my general Lauren?" His tone was light, tight and foreboding, but the pressure eased off my arm somewhat. The tone was not something I'm used to hearing from him and I didn't really know what to make of it. I didn't want to say anything, but it was getting hard to keep my balance.

"You already know why," I said. Blood trickled down my chin yet as the cut on my lip swelled. That bitch kicked me hard. "You wouldn't ask me otherwise." The corner of Vergil's mouth twitched into a half smirk.

"True," Vergil agreed. The hand that was crushing my fingers before now reached up and smudged away the blood from my chin. The gesture is so casual-so damn human-it unnerved me. I pulled away from his touch. I didn't want him to touch me. Not like that.

"But then what else do you know?" Vergil demanded, flicking my blood from his fingers absent-mindedly. I shook my head and said nothing. "Are you aware the sickness is transmitted through bites?" His blue eyes weren't looking at me. Not at my face. _What is he staring at?_ The hand that smeared away the blood lowered, traveling to the collar of my t-shirt to reveal a bruised bite mark near the collarbone. It was still healing, the virus made any kind of healing go very slowly, even with the 'benefits' I've gained in the past ten years.

"Care for an infection of your own?" I snapped. I got the bite way before Leon saved Sarah's ass and Sarah led him to me. I never said anything about it. There was no reason to, as its more or less impossible for me to contract the virus. My tolerance to the viral shit was already through the roof. Vergil had probably found the wound by smell alone.

Nevan hissed, her eyes going a full shock of magenta as she devil triggered. _If that chick were a cat she'd had have a halo of hair standing on end._ Vergil let his hand drop from my shoulder, glancing over at Nevan. He doesn't speak a word but I can almost feel the mental conversation they were having. Nevan knew enough about the death virus to want to kill me on the spot. So does Vergil apparently. However, Nevan wouldn't kill me. In fact, she was backing off and lowering her eyes, dropping into a bow of servitude to Vergil. All hail the king, apparently. Vergil just cowed her into submission. Maybe not fuck buddies after all. Maybe Nevan's a general working under Vergil too? But then, why would Vergil want to know what I know about the virus…especially if he had a hand in creating it? … … … …So there's something not even the great hell spawn Vergil knows. _Not as omnipotent this time around are we?_ Vergil returned his full attention onto me. I steadied my nerves.

"Have a care, Lauren." He released me, backing off. My arm throbbed where he had been holding it. _What? What the hell?_ "Death is not something to trifle with." I ground my teeth together, willing my legs not to give out just yet.

"Come Nevan." Turning Vergil and Nevan headed off. _Wait a minute…he's leaving?_ I have a lame leg and possibly some dental work, thanks to Ms. Suck-suck. I can barely stand let alone put up a decent fight. Vergil literally had me right where he wanted me, he could have gotten anything he wanted, could have made me say anything he wanted with just a little bit more of a push. He knew it and I knew it.

This is more than just suspicious. _What the hell is going on? Why is Vergil in Hope, Arizona-in the human realm no less? Demons can contract the virus…does that mean there's infected demons in hell or something? And what is that supposed to mean… 'Death is not something to trifle with'? Hello! Who was the bastard who fucking knifed me ten years ago? Who was the prick who murdered me for his own ends? 'Don't trifle with death'? What the fuck are you trying to pull Vergil? _

"I _hate_ you," I growled in that creaky, cracking got-the-shit-kicked-out-of-me voice I'm sporting now. My voice carried enough venom to poison a small furry thing. Nevan paused, glancing over her shoulder at me with magenta eyes. Purple tinged electricity crackles down her ass length hair before she turned and fell in pace behind Vergil again. Vergil didn't break his pace let alone toss me a second glance.

"You're entitled," he told me, coming a halt. Nevan walked past him, pooling energy in her hands. "You wouldn't be the first and you certainly won't be the last." A rift opened before Nevan and Vegil. It was a dark hole that swelled up from the ground, seeming to eat the light around it. It was darker than any darkness present in this realm of existence. A portal to hell. Peachy. Nevan shot another glare at me before stepping into the portal. Haughty aristocratic high nosed bitch. I owe her one. Big time.

"Let's meet again." Vergil said, glancing over his shoulder, now. He smirked at me. "Soon."

"Either kill me now or live to regret it, Vergil," I told him. He has to know I'm going to get revenge on him. If not for right now, then for what he did. He knows by now that I don't make idle threats. He will live to regret sparing my life tonight. Count on it. Vergil laughed, heading towards the hell portal now.

"Strange, but I look forward to our next chat. It's been far too dull." His pitiful life has been 'boring'? How dare he use me as his entertainment. Again, he read my mind as he seems to be able to do from time to time, saying the exact thing that will piss me off the most. "You've offered me far too much, Lauren. It would a waste not to take advantage-"

"Go to hell," I growled, interrupting him. Vergil just continued to laugh. Yeah aren't you just a barrel of monkies you prick.

"As you wish, little Lauren." Then he's gone, the hell portal closing behind him. Goddamn him.

Only now do I let my legs give out from under me and sink to the ground. My leg hurts and even though the light from distant, burning Hope is weak, I can kind of make out the dark red black stains of blood and congealed necro goo…but…what? What was that? There was a tightened brown leather band around my leg, just above the glass shard wound…a tourniquet? Who the hell put a tourniquet on my leg? … … … … … … … … … _Sonvuabitch_! Why the hell did he remove the glass shard in the first place! He kept me alive just to freaking question me? And honestly what the heck did he even get out of that? _Sadistic fuck_.

I look to Hope, still ablaze in all its glory. I have a lot to think about but…for now…I need to get out of this frickn' desert or I'm vulture food. Groaning, I got to my feet. The nearest town was roughly twenty miles away. It was about three am. I had three hours of staggering before it started to get hot again. I won't be able to get anywhere between 11 am until maybe 7 pm. It was coming off the tail end of summer, no way in hell I'll be able to avoid passing out with weather in the triple digits. I'll have to dig a hole to hide in or something. If I'm still conscious by then. No wonder he didn't let me bleed out. That would have been too quick. Starvation and dehydration take way longer. Vergil you bastard.


	10. Helping Hand

Ok, Ok, I know this is late and I'm sorry so please put the butcher knives and bricks down. O_o; I'll do my best to get caught up this week and I promise to let this happen as little as possible...um... ... ... ... ... why are you still holding that knife? And why are you smiling! :O GAH! X_x (And that's what happens when you break your word. 'nuff said. XD enjoy the chappie)

* * *

**BloodRayne**

The wind whipped cold and relentless about her, snow drifts burying her leather-clad legs knee high in numbing ice. It was a blizzard, one of the coldest ones in years. Head bent against the howling flurry of white, the dhampire trudged on, doing her best to ignore the deadening of her senses as they failed, one by one, to the cold. Grey black buildings rose about her, as silent and detached as tombstones. Winter had come early this year, one of many gifts global warming was bequeathing unto the human race.

The com-link crackled uselessly in her ear, Severin's voice was now a long forgotten memory in the furious throws of the wind. The little microphone's plastic had frozen to the delicate skin of her inner ear. Her convoy-a snowmobile's tougher and uglier cousin-had punched out an hour ago, the engine block frozen. The machine had left her stranded several miles from her supposed destination-if it had existed to begin with, she supposed. She raised a foot, bringing the thick-soled boot down hard in a drift as she pushed onwards. Perhaps there was something to the movies when they depicted Minnesota as a frozen wasteland. The national weather services were declaring a state of emergency and she had seen fit to head strait into the mess of it.

Why? What had driven her to this end? This was no man's land. A technological dead zone, with no humankind for miles, and with that, no food either. Minnesota, it was frozen hell on earth. Rayne shivered in her furs as she bit down on her tongue, sucking at the blood that welled up from the small wounds. The satisfaction from the minute, swelling liquid was fleeting. The spittle of cold liquid slid down the back of her winter rock throat along with gobs of mucous laden snot. _Bloodlust gods of the past, help me. Self-masturbation feeding_. She was reduced to this. Already. She could still hear Severin's protests, or rather, his coldly logical arguments.

The man had no backbone-no will to fight and no sword skill to speak of-but he had the deadly logic of a born schemer. The man should have been a bleeding politician; he was sneaky enough for one. Their last conversation played over in her mind, like a movie on loop. Again and again she thought of the memory.

_'Rayne the place may not even exist. With the time it would take you to get there, you'd already be out of gas leaving nothing for a return trip-and that's if the engine didn't fail first. Think logically about this for a moment. There's not even an ancient that would dare this kind of weather-'_

_'I never asked you to go, Severin,_' she'd purred back. _'Though if you wanted to curl up with me for warmth during the long cold night when we get there..._' She'd shrugged, amused at his annoyed sigh.

_'Ragnark is a legend Rayne! Not a place that exists on any map! What can you expect to find? In a city filled with humans none the less?'_ he had demanded, his green eyes snapping.

_'My, you're awfully testy lately. I take it our sweet blooded Arcadian Lucia hasn't been putting out as much as you would like?'_ she'd smirked. He hadn't responded, hadn't looked shocked or appalled, hadn't taken her bait. They both knew Lucia was long gone, a memory in her relatively newly acquired dhampire lands. Severin never had shown any interest in Lucia, not even for the nourishment they both needed as Dhampire. It was a fact Rayne pondered from time to time.

_'Ragnark,'_ he repeated, enunciating each word like a curse, _'does not exist! All you'll find is a technological dead zone! We can barely keep this place afloat and that's with the back up generators. You will be risking-no wasting-your life for nothing!'_ Even now, with snow pressing into the cracks and crevasses of her boots, she had remembered her response. Her jaw chattered, teeth knocking together like porcelain hammers. In the cold and the dark and the blizzard of snow and ice dancing in the air around her she had to smile weakly-still-at her response. The place existed. It had to. She refused to die like this. Severin would be pissed as all hell when he would come here to get her in a chopper.

_'You're right,'_ she had agreed, _'Ragnark doesn't exist. Not on any human map.'_ Ragnark. The end of the world. Literally and figuratively. The apocalypse, the main event itself, as a tangible place. She was so close. She had to be…

So many years of searching, creating bridges with this underground agency and that, burning those bridges when their interests diverged from her own. An archetype-a nearly perfect mechanical blue print found within her DNA. But the blue print for what? A machine? Magic? Ragnark. It _wasn't_ real. It _was_ real. It _didn't_ exist. It _did_ exist, _had_ existed, once. Once upon the time when the gods lived in Mount Olympus and demons freely walked the human realms. When vampires were worshiped as vampyre lords and performed their now long lost function as mouthpieces for the will of the Night. When angels bore the fate of the world in their skin and the fairies stole gifted humans away to live with them, never changing, in their kingdoms of light and shadow. Skip a few hundred centuries forwards and all that remained were half forgotten memories of a place that was yet to be. Her only clue to that place lay in her blood, or rather what her father had put in her blood. She was placing her life on something far more primordial than her own ancient 'father' had been.

Her father, Kagan, had envisioned a world dominated by vampires. Lucia's own creator-Aruis, also a blood scientist as Kagan had been-sought the same world, recreated in his feather-brained image. There were others, she knew, that possessed this blueprint. The third archetype, a third attempt had been made. A new demonic world order, driven by a powerful demon lord had utilized the same blood science. The carrier of the archetype-Trish-had rebelled against her creator as well. It didn't take a geneticist to figure out the pattern between the archetype and one of its apparent effects on those who carried it within their blood. Rebellion was the very least of it.

The last part of the puzzle had taken her the longest time to piece together. Trish hadn't been as forth coming on her origins as Rayne had hoped she would, and the demon woman knew how to handle herself. Then there was the last attempt. The human woman-Lauren-now dead these past couple of years-who had been a human driven attempt to control the world. All these attempts at utilizing the blueprint with in their collective DNA-Lauren's, hers, Trish's, and Lucia's blood-had failed. Miserably.

So why the experimentation? What was the root of this? The source of four diverging, intercepting, and convoluted paths? Each creator had sought the same goal. Each had failed. But any fool could tell you there was more to it than that. Why a contest with a pot so large? Who was dealing the cards and how had the game began? The game itself was well over 300 years old. Not her own ego driven father, surely, he was dead. No humans lived that long…so who was the mediator at this table? Who was casting bets and who would be cashing in? She wanted answers, and as usual, she would do whatever it took to get them.

Her foot came down, pushing tiredly against the resisting snow. Wriggling the toes in her left boot, she realized she couldn't feel them. Nor could she feel her fingers. She breathed, pausing in her trudging for a moment, panting as she surveyed her surroundings. There was nothing to be seen but an endless shifting blanket of whiteness. By rights, she should have been dead center to a street filled with parked cars. Not even the upraised lumps of their drifts could be seen. The coldness of the air burned at her throat, numbing the steady, quiet ache in her chest.

Lifting up her right foot and bringing it down, she stumbled, falling first to her knees and then onto her stomach. Snow filled her nose and numbed her cheek through her animal skins, the water began to burn like acid as it slowly liquefied. Even with that she didn't move. It was warmer in the snow. Or at the very least, she couldn't feel the constant rush of the wind around her. She could hear it still, the blizzard raging above the hole her weight had created in the snow bank when she fell. She sighed. It was warmer here and although she knew she shouldn't fall asleep-that it was grossly dangerous to even consider falling asleep in such weather-she found she couldn't move. _Ah well, just a moment_. Her eyes were easing close. It had been such a long time since she'd laid still like this, able to rest in comfort. She could not remember a time she had only heard her own heart beating, with no interference from the outside world at all. She wondered at that.

'_Ragnark does not exist!_' Sevren's memeory reminded her curtly again. _'All you'll find is a technological dead zone. You'll be throwing your life away for nothing. We can barely keep this place afloat with the back up generators!' _Ragnark. It existed. It didn't exist. She was both right and wrong. Sevren too, was also right and at the same time wrong, but that was something else all together. And she was too tired to consider this now. She was so close. So very close.

'_So I take it our sweet blooded Arcadian Lucia isn't putting out?'_ she asked him again, smiling softly to herself. She could imagine Lucia snarling at her, the French lisp she spoke with becoming more pronounced in her annoyance. Just a quick cat nap. Then she'd find it. She'd find it and lose it, that was the nature of Ragnark.

Ragnark. It had existed, once upon a time…now it was nothing more than the whispered stirrings of a dusty legend.


	11. The Fullum Job Pt1

And now LBHE is back on its feet wielding sporks of doom. Enjoy enraged Dante side story goodness. :D

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**Dante**

It had been an easy enough job, the same old, same old. Only it wasn't just the same old, same old. It never really was, was it? Everything had its own lead, its own clue and hedge way into something deeper and darker and well…evil. He'd seen every color on the spectrum, saw how the gray blurred the white into black. Hell, he was one of the fuzzy gray parts. Half human, half demon, neither and both. It was the fine edge of the blade he walked and damn, he balanced that act well. Then again, being one of a kind, it wasn't that hard to make this kind of job look damn good. Rebellion twisted in his hand, circling in his palm as he gritted his teeth. He was Dante fucking Sparda. He saved the little terrified weak masses from the darkness his miserable bastard of a father had been born from. But whatever, right? This was his goddamn job and he was _good_ at. With a vengeance, he was good at it, for more than just one reason.

But _this_...this was not walking the fine edge of the blade…this…this was something all together different…

Rebellion shone red, blade tip arcing so far backwards that it was in danger of digging into the back of his leg. The blade came crashing down, gouging a crater into the ground and bashing his opponent into a nondescript smear. All too red blood and very human looking body parts splattered like a broken water balloon. Several more lay dead, but that was part of the problem. They had been dead to begin with. _Could this be considered killing humans?_ _Where they ever human to begin with? Had a demonic parasite eaten its way through them? Was something like that possible on a wide spread level like this? Justifying his job like this…given enough time would he walk the same path as Vergil…or was he worse? …Yeah…right….whatever… _

His arms screamed wariness, but he ignored it. Couldn't afford to slack off now. He had always wondered what would happen if it came to this… if he would have ended up like Vergil some where along the way. The fuck…this had to be Vergil showing his hand…had to be that joke of a brother…that bastard…

Dante wasn't smiling. He wasn't laid back and he wasn't fucking kidding around anymore. It was one thing to keep the feud between the two of them. To take their mother's amulet and their father's sword, a little sibling rivalry never included anyone outside of the family directly. Was Vergil doing this in earnest? Was he seriously taunting Dante, watching him somewhere in hell and laughing as Rebellion cut down wave after wave of them?

It had never been like this before. He had never wanted something like this. Demons disguised as humans, wearing the flesh of corpses, he could deal with that. These weren't demons though. They didn't smell like demons…there was nothing even vaguely demonic about them. They couldn't even be said to have been possessed, because they weren't! There was simply _no demonic auras_ present. Anywhere.

The thing that had been human screamed in a horse whispery hiss and lunged towards him. Ebony's nuzzle spouted an endless stream of very well placed bullets, blowing holes through the back of its head. The woman hit the ground, faceless, brainless, twitching but she didn't get back up again. She was in the minority however. He turned, right hand switching up Rebellion for Ivory. Swords weren't getting him anywhere. Melee was useful but cutting off limbs wasn't doing him any good. Not right now in any case, they just got up again, oozing black stuff where their limbs had been. The twin guns went to town, doing their best imitation of a disco strobe light.

This wasn't 'demon exorcism' as the job description had led him to believe. No this was genocide. Dante didn't kill humans. They could damn themselves to hell for all he cared, there were way too many of them and he damn well wasn't a prophet, but this wasn't death, wasn't damnation, wasn't anything he had really fought against before…

The shadows blurred together on the walls of the room he occupied. He was Dante Sparda. He didn't hurt humans, at least not the ones that didn't deserve it. What was Vergil trying to prove? That he could drag his twin down to his level? That Dante could kill things as easily as he did, that he didn't have to possess that damnable pity and respect for life that Sparda had? If it was a straight forward answer…well that just wasn't the way Vergil did things. There was always a deeper meaning with his twin. Always.

"Tch." There were more…and more….and more… and fuck! Dante's hand clamped down on the man's head. There was blood before he even did anything, his grip enough to dig finger tips into and past the hard layer of the skull, cracking it like an egg shell. Easily, he tore the man from his arm, throwing him across the room. The ex-human's body hit the wall, splattering black across cracked plaster and molding, ornate woodwork. The bastard had taken a chunk out of him, even through the leather. Dante growled, annoyed, feeling blood run down his sleeve as the wound healed.

It had been an easy job, investigate a house some uptown smucks were looking to purchase. The only reason he'd taken the job was because they knew the password. How the fuck had they missed the hannibal-cannibals in the land deed? What was that? Some Sunday detail?

Still they kept coming. He was getting annoyed now, jumping all over the goddamn place like a grasshopper. The fuckers were _biting_ him, crazed with hunger, the black ooze of whatever it was leaking from their mouths and eyes. They were _humans_ though, dammit! Not possessed humans, just humans with some kind of fucked up sickness… He couldn't smell a trace of demonic influences in them. They were sick. Fucking wacked out sick people and he was lopping them up like sushi rolls.

The real annoying part was that this wasn't his first run-in with these brain washed things. There had been at least one other before this…and he'd taken out the main baddie. The surprise came when the brainwashed humans had just dropped dead…rather than reverting to what they had once been. It wasn't the happy ever after ending usually delivered. He ignored a second bite, this one digging into his right shoulder from behind. It was the fourth, fifth, and seventh that got to him.

Not even the half demonic part was shaking these things….there were too many of them… he was Dante _fucking_ Sparda. He'd raided hell for the fun of it more than once. And he was being taken down by these fucks?

He roared, going down on one knee. Seven clung to his left arm, tearing away fabric and flesh as if they were the same thing. They were swarming, hundreds of them. It was supposed to be an easy job. Another set of teeth bit down hard on the back of his neck. It wasn't that his strength was lacking, it was that there was too many of them. For every one he cut down, another ten rose in their place. Roaring, Dante reeled, getting to his feet.

It hurt, letting the demon out so fast, as it always did. He'd be damned if he was giving in that easily though….


	12. The Politics of Research

Here's another update...had a busy week again so the update is late. :O Enjoy some side story goodness. :D

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**Pentagon-US**

The demolition of Hope, Arizona was unprecedented. The resulting mushroom cloud burned a pale orange circle of death. The circle was large enough to rival the cluster of light gathered around the nation's cultural centers. At some distance, the rising flames were being watched. A sketchy image plastered its way onto a large LED television. The lights in the windowless room flicked on, gracing the place with a wan tint.

"What we are witnessing here gentlemen is the sixth, _sixth_, US missile bombed town in the last five years. This is live feed via our military satellites. So far there have been no reports of surviving bioterrorism threats. I don't believe I have to say it, but bioterrorism is becoming this nation's worst domestic and international security problem." They were seated at a round table, the glossy surface of the polished wood reflected the light of the monitors in front of them. On the giant screen Hope, Arizona burned, a giant mushroom rising to touch the clouds. The clip was then followed by various news broadcasts captured at each new bioterrorism incident. Hunnigan muted the footage, but let the images continue to roll. Anything to increase the urgency the situation presented. She turned to face her audience, her gray business suit crisp as she set the remote down on the table.

"We are running out of options. If the rate of infection continues unchecked we may be looking at a full-blown viral epidemic within the decade, maybe even a year or two. Assuming, of course, we don't already have one on our hands as it is." Hunnigan leaned onto the table, making every available eye contact that she could. As usual her brown hair and business suit were top notch and without flaw. Red-framed glasses complemented her up do and heels. She was a professional through and through and her expertise was in the gathering and piecing together of information. "With all due respect Mr. President, I move to put protocol 13 into effect as of now."

"_Please_," the vice president interrupted her. His voice carried the polished disdain of a born orator, "spare us your hype. Its been over a decade since the Raccoon City incident. So several bumpkin towns go under, and it is a great loss, but who's to say each case was an isolated incident?" Vice President Machin straitened his tie, leaning back in his chair. In political circles he was known as 'stubborn bulldog' for his persistence and tenacity. Tapping a pen on his armrest he continued, "Activate protocol 13? Our citizens would only see that as an effective blockade to their personal freedoms and rightly so. At the moment there is no biological threat either wide spread or thinly spread. "

"Over ten thousand American lives have been lost to these incidents. _Ten thousand_. These bumpkin incidences, as you put it sir, are not isolated. At every site our best field agents have gone in and done careful analyses of every situation. These towns-these incidents-are linked. Even worse, they're on American soil and completely preventable. Even a fraction of an increase in budget funding would-"

"If you're referring to the untested and undeveloped 'cure' your people have been dragging out at every conceivable moment, forget it. You don't even have results from such testing to support your claims," Machin snorted. "Where is the proof? Where are your supposed results?"

"As his vice president is aware, our funding is severely limited. Were our research branch to receive more funding, no doubt a cure would have been developed by now," Hunnigan retorted coolly. "It is because we lack funding that test results have been unobtainable-"

"Push your funding needs at a new time little girl and keep the rights of my fellow Americans out of this." Machin interrupted, he leaned forward now, cradling both hands before him on the table. "Activating Protocol 13 would be a mistake. Where's the proof for this supposed outbreak? Where's the proof that a seething underbelly of infection is spreading across our nation? I refuse to take part in initiating the biggest threat to democracy since-"

"This is not a matter of individual freedom, Machin," Hunnigan snapped, losing her cool. "This is a matter of human survival. Have you forgotten Racoon City so quickly? How after this," Hunnigan waved a hand to the LED screens, "can you say that we do _not_ we have a problem on our hands? Your own-"

"I believe we've all heard convincing arguments both for and against the activation of Protocol 13," the President spoke for the first time, interrupting a sure fire fight in the making. Machin was already puffing himself up at the implied insult. It was a well-known fact that Machin had lost his daughter to the atrocities that occurred at Racoon City. The incident had left a searing mark in the memory of and psyche of the nation's peoples as much as any other major disaster had. The world's biggest medical break through and turned the deadliest bioweapon. When preliminary experimentation went horribly wrong it resulted in the brutal annihilation of an entire city. All of it had been perpetrated under the guise of deception. A leading pharmaceutical company, the Umbrella Corporation, and a power house corner stone of the American economy, had fallen to bankruptcy when the illegal marketing of bio-weaponry was revealed. It wasn't long before Umbrella Corp. was gone and even sooner as the everyday American family began to feel the pressures of a stunted economy in their household.

The president's voice was soft but carried the weight and responsibility of his position with it. The room still, all attentions turned towards him. He had been a formidable politician in the senate, which had lent him the position he now held. President Kyle Link thought for a moment, allowing silence to permeate the room, as he studied the images flashing across the muted plasma screen.

"Hunnigan has made a viable point," he said slowly. "This is preventable if it is a virus. History will tell us that this type of outbreak should be headed off as early as possible. How did we take care of the small pox? By vaccinating every living person with it. We haven't had a case of the small pox in a native born citizen in years. We did the same with polio. Could your vaccination, had you the funding, do the same for our nation's people?"

"I'm afraid its more complex than that, sir," Hunnigan began. "To compare a biogenetically engineered virus to smallpox or polio-" The president raised a hand, bringing silence to the room.

"Could your research lead to a cure?" President Link asked again, his voice quiet.

"If the viral samples we've obtained are carefully studied, yes, a cure may be created," Hunnigan commented warily. There was more to this than a simple yes or no…however she'd be a fool to give up her gambit.

"I see. I would like to note however, the vice president has also made a viable point as well. Without solid proof of a widespread viral outbreak, activating protocol 13 would be an effect blockade of human rights ad a definite negation of the very founding principles of our country. I'd also like to remind this room that our economy could hardly sustain a movement as great as Protocol 13 for more than a week at best."

"It would put our country into financial ruin," Vice President Machin commented, his gaze rested on Hunnigan. Hunnigan raised her chin, returning his gaze with a cool one of her own.

"If I may, I would suggest an alternative to protocol 13," President Link said. "There is an alternative source, an upstart pharmaceutical company, that has approached the government, wishing to back the development of a cure." At this both Hunnigan and Machin both made to speak.

"However," the president continued, "the last thing this country needs is another Umbrella or Tricell. We have been assured that this company is a non-profit organization and a founder of the international BSAA. Amplyfy in coalition with New Light Charity, has agreed to donate a generous sum to be used in the way of researching and developing a cure. At this point a joint venture between the government and the private corporations is perhaps the only way a solution to this virus may be discovered." The President sighed, leaning back. "As sad as it is to say, with the economy as it is, I have taken the liberty of accepting the terms of the Amplyfy-New Light Charity collation in your place." It took Hunnigan a moment to collect herself. The president studied Hunnigan for a moment. "I should mention that politicians do not know how to use microscopes let alone provide you with the scientific expertise you would require. As head of our internal bio-threat containment security, I leave it to you how to best utilize our new resources."

"I…understand, sir. This is an unbelievable opportunity and I would be happy to accept a partnership on behalf of the research branch." Link nodded, a smile on his face.

"Very well. Show him in," Link commented to the secret service guard at the door. With a curt nod the nondescript man in black left. When he returned, the doors to the room opened wide. "You will be working closely with the head genetic researcher of Amplyfy. I've invited him here today so that we might discuss the future direction of your work, Ms. Hunnigan."

Hunnigan turned to take in her new partner. Black hair, pale eyes. Then he caught her gaze-if only for a moment-and for whatever reason she felt uneasiness twitch and writhe at the bottom of her stomach. He had unnerving green eyes but wore a suit. There was nothing other than that to make him any different from other people in the room. He smiled as he entered the room, meeting and greeting his way to his seat. Machin only glared that the man. For her part, Hunnigan slowly sank into her own seat, ill at ease. Why was he so unnerving? Who had eyes like that? Where was this man from and what was this upstart company he ran?

"It is an honor," he greeted the room. His voice sounded different. Hunnigan found herself mesmerized by the pronunciation of vowel and consonants, the way the lyrically connected and lilted against each other. But that wasn't it, that didn't quiet hammer the nail on the head. That wasn't why he was so unnerving and fascinating. Although his skin was so very pal-to the point it looked almost ashen-there was nothing else to distinguish him from any other. He spoke in an aristocratic way, as if born of another century. His jet black hair was a beautiful mess. He bowed to the presidential candidates, to the vice president, and to the president as well. "I am Raziel, representative of Amplyfy and New Light both. It is the deepest wishes of the collation to assist in the destruction of this virus. My intentions are for the benefit of human kind."

"We've heard that before," Machin grunted, giving Raziel a hard look. Raziel gave him a cool, peaceful smile.

"Your mistrust is unfounded, sir. Amplyfly doesn't have the means nor the wealth to easily betray this nation and its government. We seek to better the human condition by assisting with the development of this cure. Nothing more, nothing less. Believe me when I say, I understand the objections you may have to my presence at your laboratory facilities, however I assure you that I-and those employed by Amplyfly-are highly qualified biochemical chemists. Mr. President Link was gracious enough to accept our assistance and has accepted our good will. I would ask the members of the presidential cabinet to take a moment and allow me to present what research my company has developed thus far." He paused glancing from Machin and Hunnigan to the President. Machin, the stubborn pitbull, sat frumping in his seat, unspeaking. He watched Raziel with a board expression, his palms flat on the table. The President looked to Hunnigan as if to ask her of her opinion of the man before them.

"This is somewhat surprising Mr. Raziel. I would be fascinated to learn what your company has developed. If you would please continue," Hunnigan consented.

"As you wish. Amplyfly has successfully managed to slow the spread of the T-virus infection by isolating and weakening the antigens of an infectee." The stir the news caused was subtle. Machine took his hands off the table, a sure sign that he was suspicious of something. The President's demeanor didn't change. For her part, Hunnigan continued to wear a poker face. Amplyfy…amplyfly…she had heard of that company before, but where? Ah, that was it. Amplyfly was an offshoot corporation created under the guidance of New Light…New Light…wasn't that religious organization of some kind? Where had she heard of that company name? Hunnigan made the mental note to run background checks on both companies and their collation.

"Are you telling me that you have, in your possession, some one infected with the T-virus?" Machin asked quietly.

"He is under heavy sedation and our contamination prevention plans include full destruction of the infected, should an emergency situation arise. We have learned from the past to do not plan on making the same mistakes again. Perhaps more importantly, using a prototype 'cure' we have been able to successfully negate the advanced stages of the infection. In essence, we have successfully contained the virus within the subject's body, and while he is not completely cured, he has yet to develop advanced infection symptoms. In fact, as of last night our infectee not only successfully displayed negated virus progression, he also has maintained his longevity."

"You've developed a cure?" Machin repeated.

"Not a cure. A sedative to the virus," Hunnigan explained. "You've managed to slow the advancement of the T-virus in a living subject? Were there any side effects?"

"As of now, there are no medical side effects to the subject save for the delayed development of T-virus. If you would here is a sample of the prototype drug we administered to the subject. Please be delicate with it, as it is the only sample I have brought with me today." With that Raziel reached inside his suit jacket, pulling out a small vial. It was filled with a red liquid. Raziel handed the vial to Machin. Machin studied the vial for a moment passing it on to Hunnigan. "We are calling this new drug 'Quietus' due to its promising effects on the T virus."

"What is it?" Machin asked, nodding to the vial. Hunnigan held the vial up to the light. The ruby color of the liquid was unsettling.

"The viscosity of the fluid," she murmured, tilting the vial from side to side. "Its blood isn't it?" Hunngian looked up to meet Raziel's gaze. His eyes were sharp and sent a small shudder down her spine.

"Correct," Raziel grinned at her. "After some research it was discovered that this particular blood sample has natural immunities to the T virus, by way of a very rare defect. Only 1% of the human population have this type of anomaly in their blood. As for the blood donor however, there are some concerns. We have no idea who the donor may be. My company is currently in the middle of tracking her down but our searches have been futile. It is to this end, that we believed the joint effort between my company and the government would be beneficial. We have had difficulties finding the donor, but records indicate that she is one of the few survivors of the Racoon City incident, no doubt due to her unique blood."

"Her?" Machin asked. "You know this mysterious blood sample came from a woman?"

"Yes," Raziel nodded. "We have done extensive tests on the blood. The DNA of the blood held two X chromosomes. Therefore we can conclude that this blood came from a female donor."

"May I run tests on this?" Hunnigan asked, interrupting. New Light it was then…this wasn't the first time a private company had approached the government with a miracle cure. "Please excuse me if the request seems rude, however…"

"I understand," Raziel commented, gently. "I brought this prototype sample of Quietus with the belief that I would leave here without it. I understand the trials this country and its people have suffered through deceptive intentions. By all means, you may keep that vial as a token of my good will. As to this business venture, for lack of better terminology, I expect to hear you response within the week." Raziel bowed his head to the group. "If you please excuse me, I have many appointments this day regarding both the infectee and Quietus. Mr. President, the pleasure has been all mine."

"Yes of course," the President agreed dryly, "We thank you for your time, Raziel." Raziel bowed once again, as if the presence of royalty. His smile was near perfection. Hunnigan blinked, tearing her eyes away from the man. He was different. She wasn't sure if that was a positive or a minus. The President, Vice president, and Hunnigan were quiet until the door had closed behind the man.

"Raziel and his coalition represent a large portion of the current economy. It is in our best interest to use what resources he possess," The president sighed, rising from his chair. "With wave after wave of failed international pharmaceutical nightmares," Link cleared his throat. "Umbrella and Tricell were horrendous for our economy. I do not want the same mistakes of the past to be repeated. Research this company carefully, Hunnigan as well as the sample." The Vice President was quick to follow suit, rising to his feet as well. Raziel was not the only one with a number of meetings that day. The two began to leave the room, using the same door as Raziel.

"Verify his claims to the best of your abilities. I want all the results of your work on my desk by the end of the week. The decision of accepting his proposal rests solely on those results. Should the need to back out of this venture arise, I want concrete evidence to support any claim we may need to make."

"Understood Mr. President."


	13. Devil Dance

And you thought I wouldn't update this week didn't you? XD Gettin' a bit of a cold...but for the mean time, enjoy the new chappie!

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Say Good-bye

As we Dance with the Devil tonight

Don't you dare look him in the eye

As we dance with the devil tonight

-_Dance with the Devil_, Breaking Benjamin

**Making The Call**

"Mr. President."

"Ms. Hunnigan. I hope this is urgent."

"Sir, regarding the sample left in our care by Mr. Raziel-"

"You haven't to submitted your reports yet. Should I be worried?"

"I wonder."

"I beg your pardon?"

"The blood donor of Raziel's sample has just surfaced. Although we're still waiting on lab results, some simple DNA sequencing tests were a positive confirmation. However…there's a problem with the tests."

"… … …Explain yourself."

"A civilian was recovered by a patrol unit outside of Arizona. Initial field reports indicate that she has been bitten but has not contracted the T-virus. One of our best field agents and a survivor can verify her presence at Hope. Her DNA matches _one_ of the sets of DNA found within the Quietus sample."

"_One_ of the sets of DNA? I'm not a geneticist Ms. Hunnigan, but I believe in school they said that it was one DNA per person."

"We were aware that Quietus was a sample of blood containing genetic antibodies resistant to the virus."

"Yes, I understand that," the president chuckled grimly. "However what do you mean that there are multiple DNA types?"

"Quietus is a composite blood sample. When we ran initial DNA tests on the Quietus samples, we found not one set of DNA but three separate and complete sets of DNA." Hunnigan paused, near breathless. "More testing concluded that all three DNA sets were from female donors. They all contained the double X sex gnome."

"So Raziel lied to us?"

"Not completely, no. It would seem that the three blood types work together to create Quietus. How, we're not completely sure. Some of our best in the lab are completely baffled by this."

"What are you saying Hunngian?"

"Without those specific three DNA sets working together in Quietus the way they are, there would be no cure. Sir, initial small tissue sample testing is proving just how effective a cure Quietus may be."

"And you're saying one of the three donors whose DNA is found within Quietus surfaced outside of Hope?"

"Yes. She came in direct contact with one of our field agents. We have an associate of hers in our custody for de-contamination.

"Which one of our field agents?"

"Leon Kennedy, sir."

"I see. Very well, detain her and her associate. Relocate at the Colorado Base. Have our agent serve as an escort. I will review his report once they've arrived at the base. Meanwhile, begin research on samples of the detainee's blood immediately. Speak with Machine if you meet with any legal hitches. This matter will be treated as a presidential order."

"Understood Mr. President. What of Mr. Raziel?"

"We have a three days before he needs a reply. Let's use our time wisely."

"Yes Sir."

**Vergil-Hell**

The hallways of his domain were quiet and his footsteps barely made a sound as he made his way. Those few hundred that actually mattered were gathered in the main hall. Consolidating his iron-fisted control in hell had been easy, far easier than he had anticipated it to be. Easy enough to be something of a disappointment. It had been a simple matter, upon returning to hell, of dominating those few demons uppity enough to assume control of others. There had been faction upon faction of demon generals vying for ultimate control of Hell's Throne. News of a toppled dictator always spread fast throughout hell.

Half the work had been done for him really. Those few generals that had been strong enough to amass enough weaker demons as a following had maintained their collective tribes through the one rule of hell: power and strength, fear and intimidation. It had been simple thing to brutally and public defeat of the generals. Their masses followed their generals like fish to a worm on a hook, but only after the generals bowed to him and performed their customary boot licking function. He ruled the generals, the generals got to hold on to their pitiful minions.

None questioned his will. Had he demanded the self sacrifice of half of population of hell, he would have received it and they would have done it with a smile on their faces. Fear truly was power you could not buy. The lesser demons obeyed him as the mindless, unquestioning robotic slugs they were. It was the gentry that posed frequent problems. However harsh brutality had cured them of their insipid machinations early on.

The real problem, the one that began shortly after establishing his rule, was the virus. It had emerged not more than four years ago. Shortly after Vali-his ruling predecessor-met her downfall at the hands of Lauren, Dante, and himself the virus had emerged. Could it be that the events that had transpired then had something to do with the current situation?

Ah…and then there was Lauren. Little Lauren, the movie puzzle piece. So she was alive. She had been half dead last he saw her. She had changed some, become stronger, more jaded and used to the casual violence offered to those who walked this life style. Her fighting had been very impressive compared to the stumbling person she had been before. She was still the same though, underneath it all, stubborn yet fascinating. Still intelligent enough, however, to keep her real objectives close to heart. Lauren knew something about the virus plaguing hell. Whether it was consciously or unconsciously, she knew something. She was after all, the biological daughter to the angel of death. He would have to get the answer from her…another time maybe…then he would take back his portion of the amerhurst.

The great doorway to the main hall opened, the sound of his bickering generals flooding the darkness of the hallway. Entering the room he saw Freezion straddling Jericho, there was blood coating the floor already. From the sidelines the other generals jeered or in Neven's case, fucked. She was going at it with a Goatling general. Succubus, they were disgusting seething pits of inbred stupidity.

"And what are you doing?" His voice alone was enough to quiet the noise of the room. Freezion went still, his hand fisted and mid-flight to Jericho's maw. The Gryphon like demon was quick to bow to the Lord of the underworld on both knees.

"My Lord, this cull insulted-" Freezion began.

"Do I care?" Vergil interrupted.

"Forgive me Lord," Freezion's voice was a low rumble. There was blood before Vergil withdrew his fist. Freezion fell to the ground, his face an in-dented pit of gore. Blood leaked from Freezion's ears and smattered against the dark ground as his corpse fell. Gore clung to the knuckles of his gauntlet. He flicked the Freezion's brain bits from his hand with revulsion.

"There is something more important to discuss than your meaningless honor," he commented to the dead corpse. Those that gathered listened closely. "We are besieged. You all know of the virus. It eats away at what little brains you possess until we become little more than feeding machines." He turned his back on the gathering. "It is time to eradicate this disease. Root out those who have the sickness, destroy them, use any means necessary."

"If I may Lord Nero Angelo, nearly half of our foot soldiers have contracted the virus," a voice rang out. Half? Half of the foot soldiers? It was madness to unleash the blood thirsty horde gathered in the room upon hell…but half? Half of the foot soldiers? Gone? No matter. Grunts were born every minute. Humans sinned constantly, it wouldn't be long before new foot soldiers replaced them.

He turned to those gathered. Slowly he smiled, the demon red of his eyes making even the worse of the battle seasoned generals feel the tingle of an excited shiver run down their spines. Having seen the underbelly of hell and suffered through it more than once, the scent of it always lingered in his eyes and traces of it had stamped itself on his smile. It was a hard look the gathering bore, but they were hungry for the hysteria it offered.

"I fail to see the problem. Destroy those with the virus or be destroyed yourself." The generals roared their approval. They had little choice in the matter. He could cut down the entire room and there would always be others eager and willing to replace them.

"Sire," That same voice cut through the din. Growling, Vergil raised a hand for silence. He had it in seconds. He turned to eye the source of the voice. A small leper of a demon stepped forward bravely. He was of Naga hereditary. The lower part of the demon's body was that of a snake. Boney protrusions spiked from his skull, all but obliterating his several eyes. "One of our generals is not present. Trippen from the Greed clan failed to present himself to you lord."

"And?" The demon paused for a moment, taking a breath before continuing, knowing it could be his very last.

"I have reason to believe my lord Trippen has been tainted by the virus. He consumed the better part of several of his underlings before disappearing. Some believed he traveled to the human world." The demon bowed low, his belly touching the ground.

"So be it," Vergil commented softly. He raised his voice, gazing flickering to the amassing chaos, "Destroy those infected. Leave Trippen to me."


	14. Alcatraz

Here's the next chappie! A shout out goes to Kyohaku-akuma for the fan art! :D Thank you much! I'm honored! Take care of your health people! See you next week with another chapter!

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**Lauren**

I came to in a place that was cool, comfortable, and smelled of rubbing alcohol. A heart monitor sounded off above my head. I wiggled a finger, feeling the cool metal of maelstrom. Yes, I was alive but not in the same place that Vergil had left me for dead. That hard thudding feeling in my head was probably my heart beat. _Yeah, heartbeat, not a five ton headache_. My throat was sore and my lips were cracked. There was barely enough spit in my mouth to wet the tip of my tongue let alone the entirety of my lips. My skin felt flakey, as if I were shedding it. I laid on something firm and soft, but it felt like a heated iron against my sun-branded skin. Blearily, I took in my room.

It was a hospital room, of sorts. Or the cheapest hotel room I'd ever seen. The walls were a stark cement grey color and furnishings were non-existent. I have seen my share of ugly ass hospital rooms but this bugger took the cake. Nothing, save for the gurney I laid on and the beeping medical equipment, adorned the room. Not exactly where I wanted to wake up but it was better than frying like an egg.

Slowly, I raised the leg with the glass shard wound, sliding it out from under the feather light, off white sheet. Sucker was stiffer than a board and hurt like a mother to boot. Black stitches stood out against the red, blistered skin of my leg. Hell it could have been infected for all I knew, but the stitches looked professional. I wiggled my toes and bent my knee, drawing my leg up. Meh, everything worked.  
I took a breath and slowly sat up. It was more work than it was worth and I got light headed from that simple effort. _Shit this must be what road-kill feels like_. I was wearing a full-blown smock with sleeves that dragged down to my elbows. Under the hem of my right sleeve, my friend mister IV was dripping some clear fluid into the instep of my arm.

On my left wrist a hard metal umbilical cord wrapped tightly around my flesh, connecting me to the gurney. _Man why do I always wake up with the wrong kind of jewelry?_ I jiggled it, the metal handcuff clanked hard against the gurney's guardrail. Sweet. Cuffed and on lock down. _Does it get any better than this?_ Somebody seriously wanted me staying put. Even the door to the room was firmly closed.  
I tore off the heart monitor electrodes running uncomfortably under my hospital gown. The heart monitor went nuts as I tossed them aside. For the time being I'm going to ignore the fact that someone was undressing my person to get this idiotic hospital gown on. _Damn you Vergil. Damn you, damn you_. I kicked off the sheet. I was still a bit muzzy from the desert, but not so muzzy as to know I had to get out of there. Where ever 'here' might have been…there were things I had to do and people I had to murder…one of them being a self-centered tyrant ego-manic half-breed. I clenched my teeth and pulled out the IV drip, letting the bag spill its guts onto a very clean white tiled floor. _Fuckin' needles.  
_ I took in the gray concrete walls one more time. This time I noted the wall mirror in the corner of the room. If it was lockdown I was dealing with, that mirror was probably a two-way deal. There was also tell-tale black bulb in the corner of the room, lurking on the ceiling. It was centered to focus on the bed and the only door to the place, off to my left. That was a lot of security for an unconscious person, but then again normal people don't wake up hand cuffed to a gurney.

I eyed the camera one last time before, turning my attention to the cuffs. I took the chain in my free hand. Gently I massaged my umbilical cord with soft fingertips before gritting my teeth and tightening my grip. I twisted my wrist, feeling the metal chains buck under newfound pressure. The metal snapped like a tooth pick, cutting my hand in the process. The handcuff chain fell into the palm of my hand in several pieces. I had my freedom and a new bracelet.

With a sigh, I flexed my now bruised wrist. _Time to get cracking_. Casually, I flung the metal cuff towards the camera, arching my wrist just so. I scored a direct hit and the little machine hissed sparks for a second before it went dead. With that final kill blow, I knew I would be working on a timetable.

It would only a matter of time before the door opened and someone came in to say hi. I slid out of bed, feeling the cool ground with the soles of my bare feet. The first step was a lou, the second was a doozie, and the third needed therapy. Apparently stitches didn't mean the wound was healing as fast as it should have been. _This ought to be an interesting day. _

I neared the door. Testing the handle, the metal thing didn't jiggle_._ The door itself was one of the metal variety. It was big, tall, hard, and not so easy to break down-especially in my current condition. Maybe before Hope, but now… _Nuts to that. _Turning I took in the sparse room. _Well now what?_ _  
_

**Hunnigan**

Her shoes clicked hard on the ground. The cell phone was going off in her pocket. With a brisk reach of her hand, a voice crackled over the ear bud.

"Hunnigan here, report."

"Ma'am, reporting from observation."

"And the status of the subject?"

"Unknown ma'am." Hunnigan paused, hand reaching out of her white lab jacket to summon an elevator.

"Explain," her voice was sharp as a cracking whip.

"Ma'am the subject is MIA."

"MIA?" Hunngian demanded. "Please explain how a bed ridden patient being treated for dehydration has some how left their locked room." The elevator arrived. Entering the small room, she reached out and pressed one of the many buttons. With her other hand she pulled out a security key. After sliding the key card through the access slot the elevator doors closed. The elevator began to move downwards.

"We have no idea ma'am. The security camera is experiencing technical difficulties and there is no visual contact with the subject. Seeking permission to access patient's room."

"Permission granted. Continue observation and assessment of the situation. Hold positions until support arrives. I will be there in 5 minutes." Reaching for the cell phone in her lab pocket, she dialed a new number. Absent-mindedly Hunnigan fixed her glasses, pushing them up. Irritated she brushed aside a soft brown hair that had somehow managed to free itself from the confining bun at the base of her neck. The receiver rang in her hand bud before picking up.

"This is Hunngian," She commented without greeting. She could her the field agent's breathing on the other side of the line. "We have a situation at the observation bay regarding the subject recovered in the Hope incident. As usual your expertise is required." She hung up the phone without waiting for a response then dialed another number.

"Sir, Hunnigan reporting. There is a situation in the observation bay. A more thorough report will follow an assessment of the situation. I've called in a field agent as well."

"Very well Hunngian, proceed with caution."

"Understood, Mr. President."

**Lauren**

The door to the room crashed open. Big, scary men in dark bullet-proof armor slowly entered, their guns at the ready. The point man must have been the more experienced one; his movements were liquid and calm. The second gaurd, he was the twitchy one. There were only two of them but they confirmed what I had already suspected: someone, somewhere, knew something they shouldn't. They were telling me a lot with the way they were acting. They were thorough and cautious as they approached my abandoned gurney. What a crying shame. Trained professionals, seasoned pros even, they just didn't have the common sense to look up.

Carefully the point man made his way to the bed, his buddy following closely behind him. They were so armored and ready to take on the world. Who would I have been to disappoint them? I waited until they stood next to the gurney, staring at the IV puddle like morons before acting. I dropped down like a black widow spider, landing silently from my hiding place-the cramped corner where the wall met the ceiling, just above the door. My glass shard leg threatened to convert to liquid jell-o upon impact, refusing to bend out of its initial couch. The stitches jerked, promising to pull free if I got cute.

It took nearly 50 seconds of mental begging and a solid desperate scrabbling at the wall for purchase, before I could straiten into a full stand. I held my breath. Luck was on my side, the armored thugs never looked in my direction. _Morons_. Quietly, I backed out the room and swung the door shut. An automatic deadbolt clicked as the door shut while the card swipe light switched from green to red. _So much for that_. Limping, I turned around.

"Going somewhere?" Leon held the barrel of a gun to the center of my forehead. There was a dead, calculating look in his eyes. I raised an eyebrow. _Wow, sooooo not the person I was expecting…_


	15. Alcatraz II

And LBHE is back on track. I apologize for the absence. My life has been...meh, fuck it. ;) let's continue with the story shall we? Enjoy! XD

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**Vergil**

**Human Realm**

The whisper of the wind in the trees sounded like a death rattle. A layer of broken, lifeless leaves coated the rocky ground carrying the sounds of a fading summer with them. In the distance dark clouds rumbled, filled with an eerie glow at their bellies. He sniffed. It would rain soon. This time of year in the human realm, it tended to do that he remembered. And why was he lurking in the darkness?

In a word: Tripe. Another demon that sought the human world, was this a pattern perhaps? He had to wonder. Over yonder a large facility waited, fending off the darkness of the night with artificial beacons. They were well armed for humans. However all the guns in the world wouldn't be able to save them. Not from that run-away coward Tripe and not from him if it came down to it. Several large four wheeled vehicles as well as several helicopters stood at attention. Even at this late hour, people scuttled like ants before him, organizing supplies and filling the minutes of their lives with useless labor.

This place was well chosen, deep in a valley between many mountains. Most likely it was inaccessible during winter. It was a well-placed fortress. His nose twitched. In the distance thunder rolled over the curvature of the mountains, echoing like a violent drum. There was no sign of Tripe however he was certain the demon was near. Tripe's aura choked the place despite the changed nature of it. This aura was unnatural, something that was deadened, muted to his senses. It was the same feeling the aura of a dying creature would give off. However, that made sense. The virus was parasitic in nature, from what he'd seen. It fed off the host's body, utterly consuming it. Was that not the very nature of a parasite?

In the darkness Vergil waited, Enryyu the flame sword at hand. He would cut down Tripe. Hell would be united under his reign. He needed the power. _More power. _The demons would beg and grovel at his feet like dogs begging to be put down. The flames of the broadswords lapped greedily at the blade's length. Vergil tightened his hold on the hilt of Enryyu…He knew demons and their kind. Better than most. Tripe would attack those humans in that well lit oasis of theirs. It was just a matter of time and he savored every second that brought him closer to the slaughter. The rogue demon was already amassing his aura…this would finally be a battle worthy of his time…however, one had to wonder….why here? Why would a demon willingly choose to attack a place with so few humans and so little to gain?

**Lauren**

Now of all the people I expected to meet…Leon was not one of them. Why would I? I shouldn't be here which raised the question, why was he here? The room outside of my holding cell was nothing more than another glorified holding cell. Survailence monitors sat on a counter under the one way mirror. A row of three lockers were visible over Leon's shoulder, just along the wall. There was a single rolly chair in the corner of the room.

"Hi boy scout," I said. My voice was rough and sandpaper like. I was no longer amused by his Boy Scout heroics. No point in beating around the bush. "Get the hell out of my way."

"Put your hands behind your head and get down on your knees." Leon wasn't amused either. I raised an eyebrow. _You really want to play this game Leon? Seriously? _

"That's pretty kinky for a boy scout," I smirked. Leon definitely wasn't laughing. He didn't even crack a smirk. The hammer on his gun clicked back and his eyes were cold, emotionless marbles. For a moment he could have been Vergil's double…but Leon was just too damn human for that. He was tense as a loaded spring. Vergil would have been languid, almost relaxed. Boy Scout may have been effectively trained in combat but he had nothing on demons.

"Get down," Leon's voice was edged with determination, "on the floor. Put your hands behind your head." For the most part he was a stone, unmoving and stoic, but the minor twitches of his body were screaming. One just needed to look for the signs to see that Leon didn't want to do this…not really…at least that's what his body was telling me. _Okay, we'll do this the nice way_…mainly since I didn't want Leon's blood on my hands. He took care of Sarah when I asked him too…speaking of which where was the runt at? I lost the smirk and raised my hands.

"Jesus Christ, I get it already. You sound like a broken record, you know that?" The metal bracelet of the handcuff clanked as it fell past my wrist. For the briefest of moments, the metal sound attracted Leon's attention. His eyes flickered to my wrist, widening ever so slightly at the sight of the broken metal chain. If he saw what happened to that demon in Hope, he'll remember it and remember it well.

My left hand slammed down on Leon's gun, forcing it down towards the ground as it went off. Anticipating his reaction, I brought my knee up at the same time, driving it into his solar plexus. Leon grunted going to a knee as his bread-basket caved in. Easily, I kept a death grip on his hand and his gun as I side-stepped, turning my back towards his. I twisted his arm backwards and upwards, forcing his wrists up above his head. It was a basic weapons defense move. I went easy on him and let go of his arm before it broke, twisting the weapon out of his limp hand.

As I took the gun away, Leon started to get to his feet, his hand going to his shoulder. What the hell? A sharp silver edge slide out, dancing in Leon's hand. I gave him a wary look, feeling my glass shard leg complain as my muscles tightened in anticipation. Crouched, Leon sized me up. I glanced to the gun in my hand before rolling my eyes and tossing it over my shoulder. _Yeah, that's more or less useless now. _

Leon lunged. I back stepped evading the knife's edge. _Shit I just want to leave this place. I don't want to plaster his brains all over the floor…but this idiot isn't making it easy on me. _Gritting my teeth together, I blocked Leon's next trust, throwing a well-placed fist into his elbow. My other fist slammed into his shoulder and I used his moment of disorientation to slide my hand around to the underside of his arm. I held on, locking my arm joints to bar him from using his own. With an aching leg I blocked a well aimed kick Leon sent my way too. Stumbling together, we both hesitated for a moment.

"You're fast," Leon commented, "For a girl." I raised an eyebrow. _He better knock it off with the wisecracks pretty damn soon. _

"Well then you'll really get a kick out of this," I retorted coolly. Using my free arm, I darted beneath Leon's captured arm, releasing it in the process. Instead I let my palm slide upwards towards his shoulder, from under his arm-pit once again, as my free arm wrapped around his neck. Leon may have had his knife, but it was dangling uselessly over both of our heads. I completed the hold by constricting my legs in a tight circle around his waist. The crook of my arm held his adam's apple, cutting his air supply low. Leon scrabbled for my arms, throwing his head back to crush a nose that wasn't there.

"One of my uncles taught me this hold when I was six," I said quietly in his ear. "I didn't learn the next part until I was twelve." Reeling, Leon backed up, forcing the both of us to bash into the metal locked door. I grunted feeling the smooth surface of the door having major disagreements with the curves and angles in my back. Leon pulled forward, just what I was hoping he would do. Quickly I released the grip my legs had on his stomach and swung them both around to his side in a weird kind of vault. As I followed through on the vault, I twisted, dragging Leon with me. Momentum worked in my favor, as always. Twisting, turning I landed on my feet. I released Leon, sling-shooting him into the wall next to the lockers. Leon hit the wall, back first, before becoming acquainted with the floor. He left a sizable dent in the puke grey sheet rock.

Coughing, Leon struggled to get to his knees, the knife still loosely held in his hand. _Boy I don't think so_. With one foot coming down hard on his hand the other foot easily booted Boy Scout in the mouth. The blow threw him into the wall and the floor. Reaching down I snatched up the blade and pressed it gently to his throat.

"It would be a shame to kill you, Leon," I said softly. Leon went still, chuckling.

"Not bad for a girl."

"Funny. I was about to say the same thing."

"What are you?" Leon asked losing his smile, watching me warily. I laughed, leaning forward, my hands traveling to Leon's belt. _Boy if I had a way to answer that question you and I wouldn't be here right now. _I found what I was looking for.

"Put these on." I tossed Leon two zip ties. They're not as good as handcuffs but they'll work. He moved slowly, but did as I asked.

"Why are you doing this?"

"Oh? You wanted me to kill you while kicking your ass too?" I retorted, pressing against the blade hard enough to cut his skin. Swallowing, Leon tightens the last zip tie together.

"Not in particular." I flicked the knife away from Leon's throat and towards his left eye. Leon was nothing more than a statue now.

"Good," I said, keeping the blade a centimeter from his eye. I reached down for a few more zip ties. "Hold your arms out." Leon obeyed quietly and didn't bother talking until I finished zip tieing him to a locker door. He didn't even protest when I tighten the two zip ties around his wrist to the point where his hands started to loose circulation. I rose to my feet, keeping the blade.

I backed off and studied Boy Scout. For his part he watched me with careful eyes. Wordlessly, I cracked my neck and moved to the only locker with supplies left in it. I was in luck. Someone left behind a full suit of riot gear and a riot shotgun to go with it. I pulled out the black suit and dragged the rolly chair over to the lockers.

"That's it?" Leon demands, his voice still impassionate.

"That's it," I said simply. I glanced over to him from my locker. "Unless you feel like screaming."

"Not likely," Leon retorted. I shrugged to myself and slopped the riot gear over the chair. I began to wriggle out of my stupid hospital gown.

"Ah, c'mon man," Leon grumbled.

"Bite me," I said flatly, taking up the riot gear. He had the decency to look away, but he didn't hold his silence.

"You're heavily infected."

"I know."

"You could infect other people."  
"Probably." I shrugged on a shirt made of some lightweight and durable fabric. God it was tight, but it would have to do.

"Your blood could also hold the cure for the virus," Leon said quietly. I zipped up the riot jacket and reached for the boots.

"Maybe."

"You could help the entire world by staying here."

"I value my freedom," I said. I tightened the bootlaces and straitened. "I'm done changing." Leon glanced back to me. I showed him the gun he'd dropped on the ground. I clicked the safety back on, and set it down on the same chair I'd flung the hospital gown over. I did the same with the riot shotgun I found in the locker. I didn't need those things. "Where are they keeping Sarah?"

"What makes you think she's here?" Leon asked back.

"She's here," I said without hesitation. "Where is she?"

"I couldn't tell you."

"You can't tell me or you won't tell me."

"Both," Leon said, his mouth hard.

"Fair enough," I shrugged. Casually I approached him and knelt. My hands snaked around his belt buckle.

"What the hell?" Leon demanded as he attempted to dance backwards awkwardly. I smirked. Our faces were inches apart.

"That wasn't very gentemen like, Boy Scout." I dangled the key card-technically Leon's- from a finger. "I'm borrowing this," I added, twirling his card key around in my finger. The white plastic sports his photo ID and some complicated numbers. No doubt there was a PIN code to go with it. Leon raised an eyebrow, the hard look coming back into his eyes. "What's the PIN?"

"I thought genetic freaks were smart," Leon said flatly.

"Cute. You kiss your mama with that mouth?" I asked him. Once step brings me side by side with the chair holding the weapons. I reach down to the riot gun. The corners of Leon's mouth plunge grimly. "I'd hate to paint the room red with you and your buddies." Leon's eyes travel to the weapons, to me, and then to the two way mirror. Those green-blue babies flickered back in my direction, sizing me up, mentally debating his odds. I snorted.

"I thought secret government agents were smart." I twisted my mouth into a black widow grin.

"Who said I was-" Leon never gets a chance to finish what he was saying. I let the gun drop. Before it hit the ground I flicked off the ring on my middle finger, summoning the death scythe. The riot gun clunked, in two pieces, as it rolled across the hard floor. I severed the barrel of the gun in half. Leon took in the sight of the now useless gun, his eyes traveling to me. I held a very lard, very sharp weapon in my hands, making sure he could see the razor sharp edge of it. Maelstrom was far more deadly than any gun.

"Do I look dumb enough to blow any cover I have by using that loud, obnoxious thing? You and I know there are a thousand different ways to die. Just tell me what I want to know and I leave here with out harming a single blessed soul. On that you have my word." I paused before continuing, my voice hardening into the violent, cold-hearted bitch the world abused for several years too long. "Piss me off and I personally guarantee that every breathing life form in this build with meet their god in person this very night."


	16. Alcatraz III

Went on a small holiday, first and last one of this summer. Came back refreshed and with another update. Enjoy.

* * *

**Lauren**

**Underground Facility**

The bluff was a wild one, but it worked. Leon told me everything I wanted to know. Hope must have him spooked. He told me where Sarah was. (Containment Ward A, seventh on the left.) Told me the PIN to his card key. (53532) He even wished me luck. Not because he was afraid, but because he was laughing at me. Obviously there was something Leon wasn't making me privy to. That or he didn't think I would leave the building alive. Whatever, I had to get Sarah and get the hell out of here.

With the riot gear and safety helmet visor drawn low, I was able to pass several security check-points without a hitch. I even managed to snaggle some riot gear for Sarah as well. By the time I had reached the containment ward the first alarms were going off. The alarms apparently meant my stolen ID was permanently suspended as per the horrified look in the security guard's eyes as nasty red non-clearance lights flashed across his monitor. Poor Bastard. The man was in his mid-forties with graying hair at his temples. His nostrils flared like a panicked horse's as he reached for the walkie-talkie on his shoulder.

"We have a security breach-" A quick chop to his throat made him gag, but by then I had him pinned on the ground. A second after that he was handcuffed with the tools of his trade, I was a pal and kicked him in the temple, leaving him unconscious on the floor, hogtied.

The man's security counsel had well labeled door accesses buttons. With the flick of a switch the heavy plexi glass doors behind me began to unseal, opening into a long well lit hallway. The labeling on the door declared the long hallway to be the beginning of contamination ward A. It looked like a sterile nightmare. The walls were lined with viewing windows into mostly empty cells.

The cells them selves were clones of each other. Each one contained a toilet, a bed, no privacy, and a heavy grey door on the far side of the room that were never used. Every thing in them was white. The floors, the wall, the bed, the mattress-everything. Talk about your mind fuck interior decorating. I found Sarah at the end of the hall, in a cell of her very own. She was wearing a bright orange smock much like the one I had woken up in. Unlike mine, however, Sarah's had a giant black biohazard sign right in the middle of it. That should have been my first heads up, if the name of her suite hadn't been.

She sat in the corner of her cell, shaved head in her hands, curled in a ball on her mattress. The glass looked thick, but it could be broken…give or take a little time. With a sigh, I knocked on the clear wall. My knuckles made that hard bone-glass sound you hear at the zoo. Maybe that was all this place was, a zoo for the scientists to poke at the freaks.

Sarah started at the sound, glancing to the plexi wall in surprise. Her jaw nearly hit the ground when she caught sight of me. With a hand I took off the riot gear helmet, letting it drop to the ground. Slowly Sarah got to her feet, her expression changing from shock to something else. She wore a blank look as she rose, sliding off her bed. Wordlessly, I held up the extra riot gear I'd managed to procure for her, before letting that too to drop on the ground next the helmet. Quickly she crossed the room, until she was face to face with me. Reaching over she touched the wall.

"What are you _doing_?" An intercom, a small gray box on the wall of the hallway carried her voice loud and clear. Her voice was raspy and her skin color was pale. I pressed the black speech button.

"Getting your ass out of here. We need to bail. They'll be here soon." I pushed the riot gear aside with a foot. Need some space to break the-

"I'm not going." Sarah's face was a firm statue's behind the wall of glass. _That can't be good… _My thumb jabbed the intercom's speech button.

"What?"

"I _can't_ go, Lor." I ground my jaw, bracing myself for the bad news.

"What do you mean, you _can't_ go?" I asked her softly. Maelstrom flickered into existence. "We're leaving. The glass is breakable." Sarah's face got ugly then, as her upper lip twisted into a sneer.

"No! You bitch! The _glass_ isn't the problem! Neither is the cell! I can't leave this place because I'm _infected_!" With a grimace that was part glare, Sarah yanked up the hem of her smock. Black spider webs danced around a small half-healed wound on her left knee. _Shit_. _Tweak is going to kill me for letting this happen to her…_

Around the purplish, pussing scab, curling tendrils of obsidian were inching their way down to her ankle and god-only-knew how far the three on her upper thigh were. The infection had uncurled in her veins, but how long had I been out? Three days or more I'd been separated from her, at the least. Sarah had gotten infected in Hope…the infection rate was deadly main because of its extremely short incubation period. She should have been a walking, mindless flesh-eating zombie by now. Sarah let the hem fall back into place after she was sure I had gotten a good look at it.

"You took me to that damn place and I got infected because I fell down and scraped my knee! I scraped my fucking knee!" Sarah more or less screamed through the intercom. "You ASSHOLE!" I should have known better…hell I had known better and yet…I gave Sarah a level gaze.

"And you're staying here because of that?" I asked her.

"Yes! Goddammit!" Sarah punched the glass wall, making a soft thud sound that gently reverberated through the thick barrier. "They said they have a cure and an antibiotic. They said that they can help me. I _can't_ leave here. If I do I'll turn into one of those fucking freaks!"

"They have an antidote?" I asked slowly absorbing it all. _Damn, Tweak is going to kill me…or expose me…or both…_ I shouldn't have taken a green horn like her there, but I did anyways. The positives far outweighed the consequences. That's what I had thought at the time. "How long before it takes effect?"

"It's already working!" Sarah snapped. "Do I look like a mind eating zombie to you! They have a cure, but it's touchy. I have to be on the antibiotitic for a month before they can administer it."

"How long does the cure take?"

"Do I look like a fucking doctor?" Sarah demanded, snarling.

"How long Sarah?" I snapped back.

"They don't know."

"What?" Sarah sighed.

"It varies by the biochemistry of the person who's taking the drug," Sarah recited. She'd heard this spiel more than once. "Three months at the low end."

"And the high end?"

"A year." Well…then this isn't…permanent...I can save my ass with that…maybe…

"Listen I don't expect you to be happy-"

"No shit," Sarah interrupts, giving me an ugly look.

"So you're really not going to like this," I continued flatly. "I need to leave this place. I'll come back for you when the time is up and the cure has run its course."

"Like thanks for the fucking handout but you can piss off," Sarah roared. "I don't want your fuckin' help."

"Who said I was offering it?" I retorted. "What did they promise you? That you could return to your normal life after wards?" I retorted. "That they would just let you walk out of this place after the cure was administered?"

"So?" Sarah shouted. "So what if they did!"

"What kind of moron are you?" I snapped. "You're a human test subject in an underground facility. They aren't going to let you go, you dumb shit." Sarah stared at me, shaking her head, silent now. "I'll come back for you after they've given you the cure." I take a breath. "It doesn't mean much and I don't expect you to believe me, but no one is going to break you out of here unless its me."

"Go to hell," Sarah growls, turning her back on the plexi glass. "I hope you fucking die." I had thought she'd say that…that's what I would have said. That's also why I hadn't bothered to apologize. There would be no point in it. What is done, is done. Actions will always speak far more loudly than words ever will. Sarah was fucked, and when Tweak found out about her, so was I. She stayed that way, her back to me and the rest of the world, standing in the middle of her cell. Her fists were balled up at her sides. Even when I was no longer there.

**Leon**

The zip ties were cut with a pair of wire cutters. Grunting, Leon got to his feet. The entire monitoring room was swarming with relief patrollers. He sighed, taking a seat on one of the open seats. It was only a matter of time before…

"What happened?" Hunnigan's voice may have been a knife, subtle as it was soft. She stood before him in a suit that had to be at least 24 hours old. She still looked dynamite in it however. Her arms were crossed as she watched him.

"She wanted to leave," Leon retorted dryly.

"Apparently," Hunnigan agreed. "This resistance was…"

"Completely expected," Leon replied. "She demonstrated oppositional defiance at Hope. There's little reason to believe she wouldn't do the same here."

"The base's forces are being marshaled as we speak," Hunnigan turned, reaching for her cell phone.

"You better hope that will be enough," Leon commented rising. "I've already submitted my report however-"

"Its been reviewed carefully and while the results of her physical examination and blood work are inconclusive as of yet, accommodations are being made to counter her…particularities."

"Is that so?"

"Here," Hunnigan reached in her pocket, handing him a clip. "They've gone into mass production but they're still somewhat scarce as of now. We've been assured those particular bullets will neutralize any infectee and non-infectee alike, with the modifications we've added to it."

"Do I even want to know?" Leon asked, studying the purple fluid in the hollowed bullet.

"Serum 6," Hunnigan commented, punching in a number on her cell phone. "Version 2.0." Turning, Hunnigan listened into the receiver of her cell for a moment more before she began to talk.

Leon studied the clip before wordlessly loading it into the handgun or had relieved him of. He holstered the gun easily and turned to leave the room. He had his orders.

"I've received reports that she's reached the outside. She cannot be allowed to leave this facility Leon." Hunnigan's back was poker strait as she took in the sight of the uninhabited containment room. The cell phone was still at her ear. He didn't bother turning around.

"Understood."

**Vergil**

All was quiet. In the shadows he continued to watch the facility. Overhead thunderheads crackled and while rain was heavy on the air, not a drop fell. The stillness of the compound listened to the cool breeze and the last of summer's crickets. The bustle of the compound had stilled, active only during the changing of the guard, repeating the same endless shift change as they had the night before. It was an endless succession of bodies, the faces always changed, but there was always guards posted at this little outpost. Always enough supplies to protect those few presidential or military officials that would make it to the facility before any conceivable-or unconceivable-apocalypse.

He supposed that was one of the presumed functions of this little base. In times of peace as well as war, the compound stood quietly and watched as the world passed it by. Technology would be upgraded but this facility would always be. He pulled himself from his thoughts, aware now in a way the guards were incapable of being aware.

In the shadows, Vergil straitened, rising from a kneeling position. The smell of that rouge demon was there, just before him. Tripe was making his move. How was it that his generals were making their way to the human realm? Why this place that was so lacking in humans and lower demon kin alike? Disturbing questions and even worse were the lack of answers. Vergil took a breath, tasting the miasma of the second rouge demon he'd tracked in as many weeks. The negative energy lingered on his tongue like unsweetened candy. _Was it customary for rulers of hell to perform this type of common place errand_? _Perhaps_. However he would not let his hard work go to waste and lay the fate of his empire in the hands of simpering weaklings.

The first explosions rocked the facility. The gas pumps and oil wells went up in a violent red ball that was visible nearly 100 miles away in the closest metropolitan areas. Half of the defensive networking systems were taken out with the gas pumps. Was it an accident? Was it an attack? Voices frantically screamed into radios. Soldiers scrambled, heavy Kevlar armor was suited up. Semi automatics were locked and loaded. Fighter jets roared to life at the nearest base over.

The hangers were next. The successive explosions, if possible, did more damage than the first one. Planes, vehicles, everything combustible-and a few machines that weren't-curled towards the sky in a nearly invisible tongue of black smoke. The dancing forms of flame seemed to worship the stars above, paying homage in silence and raucous voices likened to an age old tale of battle and bloodshed. The old alarm was blaring now, someone having finally found the old WWII hand crank one. Those few turrets of the perimeter still left swept the ruins with high powered search lights, searching for survivors and perpetrator alike. The air crackled with sounds of commands being issued over headsets. The first responding Mobil infantry was now ready for a secondary attack.

The spotlights swept through the flames as the first platoon amassed. There was nothing left of the hanger, save for bent, useless metal chunks and nearly intolerable heat. Save for the roar of the fire, a strange pregnant stillness had fallen over the small base. Even the crickets had the sense to shut up. Enryuu flickered to life, the flames of the demon sword dripping down the blade's edge and fell to the ground, melting the dirt near his boot.

Vergil took a breath, taking in the deep tar like taste of strong miasma. There rising among the flames was Tripe. The bastard was indeed infected. The humans didn't stand a ghost of a chance against him. The loss of their lives, at this point, was the only expected outcome. Orders were barked out, as weapons were locked and loaded. Vergil watched the coming slaughter, keeping his reserve and suspending his judgment of Tripe for the time being. On the wind he could hear the humans as they scrambled to react to Tripe's attack.

"Bogie sighted. Bogie sighted. Use of live ammunition authorized. Fire at will. Take it down!"

A smirk laced its way across his mouth. Like sheep to the slaughter, it would only be a matter of time before it was his turn to enter the fray. In the darkness, the kind of hell waited for his opportune moment.


	17. Next Contestant

OMG, is this like a second chapter post? In the same week? Le gasp. What madness is this! Anyways, for all those RE fans out there, just saw the new Resident Evil: Afterlife flick, so I'm posting this in celebration of it. Not giving anything away about the movie, but enjoy this chappie in the mean time.

* * *

**Lor**

The sky ripped open, spilling its insides over the compound's chaotic version of world war 3. Even with the gale force rain, fires raged, heating the air in a humid, tropical way. The rain should have put out the fires yet instead a thick mist was now coating the ground, mingling with greasy black smoke of burning oil, rubber, and gas. Around me, people in full military gear ran past with out a second glance, their shoes pounding on the ground like drums. Orders were hurtled into transmitters, the voices of those who were in charge somehow carried over the sounds of preparation.

I knew this feeling. I knew the beat of this melody. I thought I had left it behind at Hope or so I had thought. _Maybe it was a good thing Sarah decided to stay and hate me in her cell. At least she was relatively safe there_. I made my way, moving with the crowd, following the soldiers that actually belonged there like a specter lemming. _What in the hell is going on? How did the infection travel here?_ _Or is all this for me? Goddammit, I killed the necromaster in Hope. _I knew I had.

My crowd of highly armed soldiers flowed out of the only remaining intact building on the compound. Together we ran out into the open, under the harsh drilling rain. I cleared the building just in time to see a very heavy, very advanced looking tank go flying past as if it were a toy. It rammed into a jeep, making a red mist out of the jeep's inhabitants. The metal screamed on impact before both the jeep and the tank exploded in a shock wave of fire. Several soldiers that had been too close to the jeep were thrown to the ground from the impact. _Bloody fuckin' hell…the infection followed me here! _

Through the smog a figure rose, eclipsing the hazy orange glow of the fires. The ground rippled underfoot with the impact of the beast's weight. _Here we go again…_ The herd of military units I had followed out here were in a state of frantic tactical maneuvers. The surprise attack hadn't done much for their moral. The sight of the monster was doing it even less. I took a deep, smoke filled breath, taking in the horrifying outline of the beast.

Then that thing happened. That same thing that happened before in Hope. My stomach dropped out and a sticky tar-like taste flooded the back of my throat. Its not that the necro master in Hope followed me…it was that the almost the exact same thing as what happened in Hope. It was a demon. _Another_ infected demon. _What the fuck Vergil? _

The hazy shadow became a living nightmare. It was one nightmare the soldiers were poorly equipped to deal with. Not when it was hungry in any case.

The demon drove through the curtain of fog. He was a chimera force, wreaking havoc on the living. The soldiers, to their credit, held their positions, waiting for their orders to open fire as they fell into place.

The demon itself was in full blown devil trigger mode and he was one huge bastard. A serpentine tail and body connected to a six-armed, headless torso greeted us. Twisted skin tissues and eyes embedded into his shoulders made this guy a serious contender. The tell tale black infection juice throbbed through the veins of the demon's arms. The mutation caused by the infection was evident by the sharp, blackened nails that had thrust their way through the tips of its fingers. They gave the demon double nailed fingers that looked like mini-maces attached to each arm. The demon's eyes rotated, independent of each other, taking in the sight of the compound with vicious red orange irises.

A call went out, and rifles were held at the ready. I held my breath, waiting for the inevitable to come. This wouldn't be enough to take the demon down. There had to be a reason the demon was here…why the hell would an infected demon be here? The order to attack was issued.

Automatic rifles screamed to life. Crackling insanity, the demon reacted jabbering incoherently as it was spit balled by round after round of automatic fire. Six soldiers were swept up by the demon, countless more were thrown aside by the monster's brute force in the process.

The demon reared, whiplashing its tail as the men and women writhed in its grasp. They were well trained, the demon's captives, firing off their weapons for what they were worth. It wasn't a bit of damn good. The stomach of the infected bastard opened up in a slit of a mouth. Row upon row of serrated teeth greeted the six and long tooth lined tongues flickered out to greet the soldiers.

My stomach churned as one by one, the demon fed itself, popping humans like a druggie popped pills. The demonic bastard was a torturous fuck about it, ripping off a limb here or there, extending a death in the most gruesome way before finishing off it's food. If the armed forces had been spooked before, they were pissing themselves when pieces of their buddies began to rain down through the smoke inundated fog. _Sick. Fucking sick_. My stomach tightened, bile rising to my gorge. Humans-bits of people-were caught up in between the teeth of the fucker. I grit my teeth. _This __**fuck**__ so has to die._

The sound off for retreat was given. Soldiers evacuated the battlefield like seeds in the wind as the heavy guns were brought out. The injured were scrapped off the ground ASAP, carried to safety by their buddies. Those that were that unfortunate became food for the demon. They should have brought out the big toys first. Roaring the demon followed its retreating food source, picking off the injured one by one like a gluttonous vulture. The heavy guns were loaded meanwhile and missle shells bombard the demon. Frag bombs slice open craters in the demon's flesh. For a while, it rained black. The bombs nearly overpowered the sound of thunder. However, there was a problem.

The bombs aren't enough. They don't do much in the way of actually killing the demon. Where ever a bomb opened up a wound, black worm like appendages actually writhed their way out of the demon's flesh and reformed the missing tissues. A creator on one of the demon's arms healed literally seconds after a bomb nearly riped it clean off. _Sweet mother of pearl. The infection isn't just speeding up the demon's healing process, its actually regenerating lost tissues. Its going to be another one of __**those**__ kind of days_.

The continual bombardment only served to piss the demon off. With a single hand, one of the three big guns was obliterated, knocked into the next century. Turning the demon eyed the two other big guns, using two of its hands to spider walk. Once more the demon fed when it had finished with the weapons.

It was a long moment before I realized I was still standing there, like an idiot, watching this demon destroy everything in its path, completely unchallenged and unchecked. How had I become so transfixed by the carnage around me? What flight of fucking fancy had left me so entranced by this fugly thing?

The last of the big guns left fired volley after volley on the demon. With a whip lash movement of its tail, the last big gun was destroyed, leaving another scorching fire in the wake of its destruction. About me, people scrambled, moving the wounded and securing a safe place. _Stupid. This is so stupid. There is no safe place when you're dealing with a demon._

"Hey!" A voice intruded on my thoughts, pulling me back to reality once more time. "Fall back! Can you hear me? I said fall back!" I turned to take in the speaker. Wonders never cease. It was Leon.

His eyes widened as our gaze met, his hand tightening on his gun. He brought up his weapon, leveling it with the center of my forehead. I tilted my head to the side, before glancing to the demon and then back to Leon. He followed my gaze. Looking back to me he shook his head, not lowering his gun. I smirked at him. He wouldn't fire at me. Not now.

Turning, I cut a bee line for the demon. The riot helmet and its stupid visor were the first things to go. It hit the ground, bouncing over hot metal frag somewhere behind me. The heavy constricting jacket went next. It was too stuffy and too difficult to be of any use in the way of armor. The rain felt cool on my skin, even if the air itself was hot, muggy, and nearing sweltering.

"You there! You have direct orders to retreat!" Someone somewhere was screaming into a megaphone. I ignored it, just as I ignored the bits and pieces of human I stepped over. _Don't think about it Lor. Keep your eyes on the prize_. I flicked Maelstrom from my finger, summoning the death scythe. The glint of silver caught the gaze of the demon. The eyes embedded into its shoulders were quick. _Good because that demon is going to need every inhuman trick it has to survive me._

With all six fists the demon leaned forward, slamming its weight into the ground, making it heave and buckled underfoot. I quickened my pace. I ran full out, maelstrom ready in my hand. Skidding sideways, I cocked my wrist, throwing my weight behind my next move. Maelstrom boomeranged out, flying from my grasp and swinging end over end. The silver scythe hit home, gouging a long line along the demon's torso. Roaring, the demon sent four of its fists in my direction, but I was still moving.

The ground was slick, but the grips on these boots were good. Recoiling, I dove, rolling to avoid the first fist. It crushed into the ground, making heated asphalt fountain into the sky. Rolling I got to my feet. I didn't think, I just went. The leg with the still healing glass wound screamed as I lept, becoming air born as I vaulted over the second demon fist. The third demon fist slammed into the ground before me, but I had enough momentum built up now. I ricocheted off the demon's third fist, flipping myself back to the wrist of the second fist. I landed it, for once. Maelstrom glinted, a silver halo of circular death, still on cruise control as it flew through the air. Taking a breath I pushed myself, running up the almost impossibly steep angle of the demon's fucked up arm.

As I go, the demon pulled its hands out of the ground. Volley after volley of bombs hit the demon square in the chest. The army hasn't stopped firing yet, even with their big guns gone. The distraction they provided was a near god send at that point.

Maelstrom closed in on my location and I reached out in time to firmly grasp the death scythe's handle. The curved end of the blade hammered into the demon's arm and I dragged it behind me on my mad quest. Maelstrom's edge bled a river of infection in my wake. I hauled ass, striving for the demon's shoulder. _I need to blind this fucker_. If it had no eyes, it would be easier to take down.

However, the beast wasn't having any of that. The ugly recoiled, shrugging its useless arm and throwing me off balance in the process. I would have fallen five stories easy if I hadn't been holding onto Maelstrom. Still, swinging to and fro while acting as a cling-on hemorrhoid to a demon... _I need to get the hell out of here_.

Ignoring the punishment of the bombs, the demon reached over with a car sized hand. I let Maelstrom dissolve into its ring form. Falling to my death was more preferable over being eaten. The gods of luck had abandoned me way before this night however. Easily the demon caught me in the palm of his hand, his grip crushing.

I could feel my ribcage splintering as meaty finger the size of tree trunks constricted about me. I panted, unable to breath. Even if the demon hadn't been suffocating me, the heat from the roaring flames below and the base beat percussion impacts of the bombs didn't make life easier. I could barely move, but the two inches I had were enough. Maelstrom roared back into existence, slicing the thumb and several finger tips off the demon's hand. Screaming the demon dropped me. _Fuck._ It was now seven stories from the ground. I can't land that and walk away from it. Hope proved it. _Goddammit. Not again_. Gravity took over, dropping me like a lead stone.

Wind whistled in my ears. I held my breath. It would be over soon and I would be in pain. A lot of pain.

The world socked me in the stomach as it came to a screeching halt. An iron bar, wrapped around my lower back as my forehead hit something somewhat softer than concrete. Not by much mind you, but my brains weren't leaking out through my ears. I drew a weak breath, compelling my breadbasket to work through sheer willpower. Forcing my head up, I recognized the shoulder of a black leather jacket.

The world stopped and the tips of my commandeered boots brushed the ground. I pushed myself an arms length away to confirm my rising suspicions. Even in the glow of the raging fires, his hair was unmistakable. _Motherfucker! _

"Vergil," I greeted him breathlessly, feeling my knuckles crack as I formed a fist in my right hand.

"Not dead yet, I see," he retorted coolly. _Fucking fuck the arrogant fucker_. I snapped. Before that sonofabitch mouth of his said something more, I punched him, square in the jaw. I had a new-found love for greeting him this way.

"Asshole," I barked, "You should've fuckin' known better." Prick left me for dead. Twice. The blow knocked his head sideways. I had actually given him a small scratch too, probably from Maelstrom. It leaked blood in the corner of his mouth. Smirking, the tip of his tongue flicked out to lap up the droplet. The wound itself, of course, was already gone. I scowled at him. Vergil chuckled. Disgusted, I took a step back. "Hell hath no fury," I muttered to myself, taking a breath. _Who the hell was he to step into the middle of my fight? _

"And there's _so_ much to scorn," Vergil quipped, straitening. I let the comment pass, giving him a sweet smile.

"Would it be too much," I asked, "to ask that you keep your goddamn hordes in hell where they belong?" I could feel the muscle under my left eye begin to twitch.

"Yes," Vergil said without hesitation. _That. Ass._ Before I could do something stupid-like trying to sock him again-Vergil sprang to life. He reached out, his hand slamming down on my shoulder.

One of the demon's fists came falling from heaven. Vergil spun, taking me with him, as the monster missed the two of us by inches. Vergil held me too close for comfort as he unleashed his heavy sword. A second fist was careening towards us, on a collision course before Vergil let loose with the blade. A tale of flame licked up the demon's arm, obliterating everything in its wake. All that remained after the fact was a scorched stump where the demon's arm used to be. The bastard recoiled, screaming, even as more of the black worm-like things thrust their way from the confines of its cooked flesh. They began to build the demon a new arm, wrapping one thick black mucus cord over another. _Fuck this shit_.

"What are you trying to do, play patty cake with it?" I demanded, pushing myself away from Vergil. "Geezus Christ, either brain the fucker or get the hell outta my way." I could set aside my grudge. A giant zombie demon bumped Vergil on my vendetta list. With that, I spun on my heel and launched myself towards the demon. _Let the half human just try to keep up with this bitch_.


	18. Mission Fail

well folks I'm sleeping not dead I assure you, sorry for the wait on this...on a side note what do you think of the new trailer to the next devil may cry-ehem I mean dmc-game? D: I'm not sure if I'm glad, mad, confused, or something in between...do yourself a favor and youtube that shit. I'm curious to know what other people out there are thinking...

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**Lauren**

Another of the demon's fists slammed into the ground not more than a half a foot in front of me. Reacting, I jumped, kicking off the demon's middle knuckle. My leg cried havoc but I ignored it. Maelstrom was ready in my hands. Again the death scythe flicked out, ringing circular death through the air. The silver blade ground out a long path along the demon's right shoulder. The eye there popped like a balloon, spilling dark tar and shuddering, writhing tentacles. I landed, going to a shaking knee as Maelstrom began its return journey. Again the demon roared, awash in pain as the virus forced advanced healing onto its host.

"That's considered 'braining the fucker'?" Vergil asked dryly. _Everybody is a critic._ The virus here, the necro virus inhabiting the demon's body was different than what I had seen in Hope. Carrion-or whatever the hell his name was-had a liquid infection. This demon had an infection with will of its own…as if it were more of a parasite than an infection. That kind of evolution in a virus was as dangerous as it was confusing.

"By all means lancelot, have at him," I growled. "Unless you're too in love with your toy."

"Demons don't love Lauren." _Tell me about it._ I turned, rising to me feet, to tell him what he could do with his sword. For a moment we both ignored the demon. Vergil waited until I faced him. He held my eye with his cold glass, dead look that had no soul in it. I could feel the breath hitch and die in my throat. _Ah shit, I've seen that look before._ There was a shred of wry amusement in his face that said entertainment was meant to bleed.

Vergil wound up and struck out. Two lines of fire raced across the ground, rupturing and melting concrete in their wake. They missed either side of me as they seared past. The heat of the dual scorching blows hit the demon along its arm joints, slicing the creature in thirds. For a heartbeat, the six shiva-like arms held it aloft in one piece before the mass of the demon's body toppled downward. The virus came to the demon's rescue once again. Long, snotty, bundled cords of writhing obsidian kept the demon from falling to pieces entirely as it buckled under Vergil's blows.

Still I ignored the demon. On my cheek I could feel a new shallow cut, blood slowly easing from it even as it healed. _Prick. He did that on purpose_. It was fleeting but for a moment I was transported back ten years, to the way things were before my life went to hell and back. Even the mere thought of the memory put a giant shit eating grin stretching my lips. It was just like back then, like a dream. Or a nightmare. I reached a hand out and Maelstrom's cold metal filled my senses. I glanced over my shoulder to the undead demon. I looked back past the destruction and gore to Vergil, from the corner of my eye. That carnivore smile never left my mouth.

Vergil was moving even as I spun. I charged, gripping maelstrom with both hands, Vergil a step behind me. Planting my feet solid, I let loose with maelstrom. Only the demon had had enough of that. With a hand, the demon made to block the weapon, even as the virus pulled its body together again. The death scythe cut through the demon's wrist, swinging full arch, until it cut through the middle of its arm as well, lopping the whole thing from its cursed body.

While the demon was distracted, Vergil made his move, launching himself skyward. With his heavy sword drawn he went strait for the demon's mouth. I caught Maelstrom, holding it ready and cocked for another go. By then the demon had swallowed Vergil whole. It wasn't long before he emerged on the other side, hacking his way out. The demon went still as Vergil ripped free from its flesh in a tidal wave of black. The edge of his new weapon seared the demon's flesh, cauterizing it with every swing.

The demon went limp and silent, falling onto its stomach. It didn't twitch like Carrion had, it just laid there in spreading pool of bodily fluids. Vergil landed, standing atop the demon like a lord atop his castle. Staring down at me he raised an eyebrow. I gave him a one-shouldered shrug and a brief ugly look. _So what if he got the kill blow? _It was done with.

Maelstrom shrank back into ring form. Easily, Vergil strode forward, descending from the demon's corpse one blood soaked footstep at a time. The counterfeit tropical heat wave around us evaporated any would be rain, though thunder still crackled and danced from cloud to cloud overhead. Fires left over from the battle still raged, feeding off noxious man-made fuel and staining the night sky a deeper shade of charcoal. Was it really over?

"You still have much to learn, little Lauren," Vergil commented, as he approached.

"Your mom," I retorted, flatly. Vergil ignored me, making his way through the haze. I crossed my arms. "Why the hell are you here?" I demanded.

"The same reason you are," Vergil retorted, his gaze flitting back to the demon corpse before returning to me.

"That's not what I'm asking and you know it," I growled. The half demon smirked at me as he ran a hand through his hair. He opened his mouth to speak but before any words were dropped, spotlights flooded the air. They cut through the haze, dispelling it with commanding authority. Squinting, we both looked towards the source. The sight that greeted us wasn't what you'd call friendly.

The army had reorganized. Row upon row of soldiers painted Vergil and I with red dots. _Wow, that was fast_.

"Slowly set your weapons aside and put your hands on your head," An impersonal voice demanded over a mega phone.

"Friends of yours?" Vergil queried sardonically. I made a face at him.

"My judgment isn't that bad." Yet this situation may become that bad in a heartbeat. Vergil narrowed his eyes at the soldiers, his hand tightening on his monstrous sword. Ghost flames licked at the sword's edge in response to his touch, falling into droplets to burn the scorched earth with hell fire. He started forward. For a moment, sheer panic clawed at the bottom of my stomach, pushing away the warm sensation of familiarity I had felt not more than seconds ago. Already I could see the meaty half cooked mass of hamburger grilling like steaks in the wake of Vergil's indifference.

"No!" I snapped, moving to block him. "Walk the other way Vergil." He cocked his head to the side, watching me with a petulant look. I matched him with a glare of my own. "The demon is dead, just piss off to your underworld hellhole."

"Apparently your judgment _is_ that bad," Vergil retorted, taking another step. "Would lay your life down for them, little Lauren?" Vergil laughed. "Those unworthy pissant things that would just as soon as cut you up for fun as they would spare you?" Maelstrom came up and I fell into a defensive stance.

" 'Cut me up for fun?' " I echoed, growling. "Didn't you do something like that once?" He didn't like that. I could tell, yet a smirk still pulled at the corner of his mouth.

"Is that so?"

"You have thirty seconds to comply or we will open fire," The man behind the megaphone announced. Someone needs to shut that bastard up. I hissed and Vergil continued to grin.

"Pick your side wisely Lauren: those humans who would kill you or me." Like that's a choice. I snorted. What, either be in the path of the devil or on his right hand?

"You arrogant prick. This isn't me making a choice," I snarled. "This is you at your finest."

"You would know best," Vergil quipped. The flames on his sword leapt to life, blazing out a warning for all to see. Are you serious? That's it? He'll kill everyone here and walk away smiling if he can. I say nothing, but I can feel the muscles in my neck go tense. "You waver between morality and corruption Lauren. I want to know what you want more: the opportunity for revenge or the opportunity to save those fools who would kill you."

"You're playing philosopher? You're stopping to think about my moral compass _now_?" I snapped, my temper rising. Where was all this consideration ten years ago? "Alright then, Lancelot, here's a questions for you: Is it better to die as a human or live as a monster?" I demanded, growling quietly. At that Vergil raised an eyebrow, his grin stretching into something unpleasant. He leaned forward, until his face was inches from mine. I didn't back down. I knew better.

"You have no idea little girl, how monsters truly live."

"Fire!" The voice screamed into the megaphone. Fourth of July fire crackers sounded off behind us. Heated bullets seeped into my shoulders, the back of my legs, my arms, even my neck. Stumbling from the force of the blows I ran into Vergil, my knees going weak from the sudden influx of pain. _Fuckin' A, those pricks_. They're half a minute from hitting the ground a warm steamy pile of innards and they open fire on me.

The warmth of the puncture wounds mingled with the aches and pains left over from my desert foray. Not surprisingly, my one leg went limp on impact. My fingers wouldn't grip Maelstrom properly and the weapon shrank back into its ring form. Vergil grunted, snarling as I collided completely uncoolly and gracelessly into him. Struggling to free his weapon, my body weight trapped it between the two of us. _Life saving by lame sauce default. Score one me._

Two bullets hit his arm as Vergil glared down at me, growling now. _Did I mess up your perfect score Mr. Personality?_ I couldn't feel my feet in my boots. Effervescent folds of fabric were clutched in my now feeble hands. Part of Vergil's jack I realized. _What the hell is with these things? Why the hell am I so weak?_ I swallowed hard, trying to keep my eyes open as I sank to my knees.

With his sword hand now free, Vergil lashed out. I could hear the dying screams of innocent people behind me as a tongue of red licked the air. Goddamn, he was going to kill them all.

"Don't Vergil. Stop," I hissed, my stomach on a roller coaster ride. My hands dug into his jacket, nails tearing at the leather it was made of. Vergil glared down at me, crimson in his eyes.

"You've made your choice Lauren," his voice was nothing more than a low rumble. Another one of those ugly grins flitted across his mouth. It was Vergil at his best. "What would you do to save them? What are you willing to give up?" Shots rang out, one of them hitting and glancing off of Vergil's shoulder at an odd angle, leaving a small spray of blood in the process. He ignored it, unmoving as stone, his attention on me. "What would you give me for their lives Lauren," he hissed.

Another bullet nailed Vergil in the arm-it looked more like a mini-syringe than it did a bullet-as he reached down and grabbed my shirt roughly. He dragged me to my toes. It was hard to breath, a swirling vortex of heat and a sour taste filled my mouth. My head lolled on my shoulders. "Answer me, human," Vergil growled.

"Are you still happy to see me?" I croaked weakly, answering his question with one of his own. "Are you still amused?" Another bullet sliced the air between us. More and more of them rained down upon us. Vergil ignored them and the pain they brought. Disgusted he released me. Even if they all died because of me, his disgust was worth it. I hit the ground hard, blacking out.

**Raziel**

He sat in the darkened office, contemplating the images before him. Complicated molecular structures lay strewn about the surface of his desk, building an elaborate genetic picture book. Raziel could see the rise and fall of civilization. He could see the rhizomes and mitochondria of demons, angles and the fair folk. Human nature danced side by side with the asexual reproduction of cells. For years he had manipulated the building blocks of human DNA like a child with their playthings.

All this and more he did with ease, as he was the angel of order and in so much could find the symmetry and perfect composition of any chaotic illusion. With his sisters gone, both now residing in the realm of the dead, all chaos was an illusion. There lay only finely arranged coincidence tattered at the edges of a rapidly unthreading fate. The world was unbalanced, shackled to corruption, with its supporting pillars founded in the great Accord all but annihilated. With God entombed, his last resurrection a failure, the world waited-languidly and flailing towards destruction-for his second coming. Prophecy remained unfulfilled. The Great Accord-the agreement made when the manic god was imprisoned-was destroyed. God had been released, reincarnated, far too early. The purification of his soul had been incomplete and his stay in the realms of the living, temporary at best. God had not fulfilled his function. The world trembled awaiting freedom from a tyrant who would never deign to give it.

The realms-mortal, divine and hellish-lay on the brink. The prophecy was unfulfilled. God had come to this earth only to be sent back to whence he came, a crazed failure. Raziel's beloved family had paid the price to satisfy the need of the Accord. Loki, the angle of death, neither alive nor dead had been the first to fall. Satan, his mother, hovered eternally at the edge way of his father's tomb. She perished so that he would live and be reborn in new, unscarred flesh. Vali, the angle cast to hell, had perished even as she foolishly sought to assimilate their father's power. As for his father-the creature that wore the face of both angel Gabriel and Fallen Angel Lucifer-that revenge driven fiend had fallen back to his confines in the deepest oblivion of death.

He was the last true surviving member of his pitiful line. The accord was gone and now the true battle lay ahead. The slowly emerging virus was only the beginning. Worse would come, much worse, before his true goal would be accomplished. It was his responsibility to bear and he had the means to shoulder the burden. Something had to be done to counteract the entropy the world would soon suffer.

In his hands, Raziel rolled a small cylinder, filled with red liquid. Several samples of Quietus littered the genetic blue prints. Laid out before him they told a story as old as the history of mankind. Older than history, perhaps. However the image was incomplete, and biologically speaking, failed to support life. _Damn._

Tilting his head back, he sighed. It was a simple matter of containing mutagenic properties of the regenerator virus once utilized in the production of the T virus. Harvesting the rapid cellular reproduction rate of the progenerator virus had proved more difficult than he had thought. Synthesizing the proper elements, that would be the real trick. If only there were a kind of genetic magic glue, something that would bind the elements he'd painstakingly gathered together. On his desk a red light began to blink, stirring him from his reverie. Reaching forward, he pressed the intercom button with out fail, moving with certainty when normal human eyesight would fail.

"Yes?

"Raziel, sir. There's an incoming call from a Mr. Kain?" Slowly Raziel opened his eyes. Kain? It had been centuries.

"Pass the call through."

"Yes sir."

"Kain."

"Ah Raziel," Kain voice was melodious as it was aristocratic. The would-be dictator was always pleasant when he thought he had his hands on something valuable. "How are you, my old comrade?"

"I am no friend of yours' Kain, nor your casual acquaintance. I presume you've called me for a purpose?"

"Astute as always, if not a little presumptuous, Raziel."

"Then I presume right in assuming you've found something I want?"

"Perhaps," Kain mused, "Why else would a vampire concern himself with the work of a disillusioned angel?" Why indeed? Kain was no philanthropist. There was only one thing an ancient powerhouse like Kain would want, more power and the rights to control it.

"You speak in circles, _old_ _friend_. What do you have and why do I want it?"

"The years have made your tongue crude, Raziel. There have been four attempts to reconnect god to this realm using a specific archetype hidden away for time out of mind-"

"For good reason," Raziel interrupted. "The genetic structure of the archetype was unbalanced. "

"The archetype-god's own genetic perfection-shattered into the blood of the world and sweep away in the veins of so many different creatures," Kain interrupted him. "Human memory is too fleeting and foolish to recollect such things, but those present at the great celestial wars-us ancients-we will always remember." There was truth to what Kain said. However the archetype was a dangerous weapon and the one he was most pre-occupied with. How would it be that Kain would know of the archetype and with an unerring sense of timing, contact him now of all times?

"What of the archetype?" Raziel prodded the vampire after a moment.

"Don't play the fool Raziel," Kain's voice was as stern as it was chiding, as if he were chastising a playful child. "You've laid hands on three perfect parts of the archetype. I know what you're seeking angel."

"Is that so?" Raziel demanded, leaning forward in his chair. Damn Kain. Of course coincidence had been laid to rest at the doorstep of this conversation. Kain knew what he was creating. What he was intending to creat.

"You want the last building block to the archetype. That strand of DNA that will save the world from this madness."

"What are you playing at Kain? Where is the last part of the archetype?"

"You'll have to come find it Raziel. Not all in life is so easily obtained as the stolen blood of your relations." The black angelic scrollings-prophesized writing that lived within an angel's skin until they day they completed their fated destiny-flickered to life. They slowly seeped into existence, revealing Raziel for the man he wasn't.

"Kain," Raziel growled, the warning thick in his voice.

"I'll be waiting," Kain chuckled. "No doubt we'll be enjoying our reunion in person. At this rate I would say that our meeting would be soon."

"Kain," Raziel began. The phone went dead. Cursing, Raziel rose to his feet, gripping the red vial in his clenched fist. Yet another move to be made in this shadow game. Kain had waited centuries and made the perfect move. It was now time to make his own counter move. With any luck, it would be something Kain would have little success in controlling.


	19. The Fullum Job Pt 2

okay, back with more LBHE chappies for you. I'll be trying to get another chapter or two to you guys either tonight or the next day or so... :D As always enjoy and see you on the flip side.

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**Trish-DNC**

He'd been gone for a long time. Too long. This wasn't a stint at the bars, not a job he couldn't handle, he could always handle everything life threw at him. That was one of the reasons she loved him. But this was pissing her off… These people-humans-inviting themselves into their shop, they were driving a knife into her already restless and irritated nerves.

"If you please ma'am," the first one said, patiently. He was wearing a non-descript black suit. Everything about him was non-descript, from the cheesy shades he was wearing to the stereotyped communications bud in his left ear.

"And if I don't please?" Trish asked languidly, crossing her bare leg. She lounged in the overstuffed red leather couch Dante loved to nap in so much. Beside her stood a sweating glass of iced tea. She was wearing a jean skirt and a tank top, something almost unheard of in the pre winter season chills. Her hair was long, much longer than it had been when she'd first met Dante. She'd been meaning to cut it for a while but had never gotten around to it and now it tickled the back of her calves. The two men before her exchanged glances. She sniffed. They were carrying guns. She could smell the gunpowder and metal. Who were these men and what did they think they know about Dante?

"As we've explained, there's a situation. We were told by the Fullums that they had hired Mr. Dante as handy man-" _Handy man_? _Dante?_ Trish snorted.

"That's one way of putting it," Trish interrupted, flatly. _'A situation?' ….As if_… _Still, he's been gone a while hasn't he?_ Trish ignored that annoying insecure nag of a voice whispering in the back of her mind.

"Ms. Trish, we would like to discuss this further with you however, we must ask that you come with us to a secure location. There are matters regarding the confirmation of his identity and we would like to recover some clarity and continuity, if possible, as to what has happened to him." _Yet you're somehow conveniently leaving out the 'what exactly __**did**__ happen to him'._ The man in the suit at her left paused for a moment. "We have reason to believe you may be in danger. It is our wish to bring you to a safe location until more can be understood about this incident. It is our understanding that Dante was close to you."

Close? If you called nightly fucking around close, then yes. If you called living together close, then yes. If you called killing demonic bastards together close, then yes. You could say that the two of them were 'close'. If she could recall every curve and muscle on his body then yes, she was 'close' to Dante. Not to mention she was somehow 'vulnerable' with out a decent man to protect her from the ravishes of the world to these men. Her? In danger? Trish forced a pretty smile, stilling the twitch of her annoyance with practiced ease. Something 'further to discuss' that needed to be done at a 'secure location'…they had no idea who they were playing with. All the same, her interest was piqued.

"Where are we going and for how long?" She asked.

"Colorado ma'am. The duration of your stay may vary. You could be home as soon as tomorrow provided-"

"Yes, I get it," Trish interrupted again, rising from the couch. She was already planning the different ways she could take these two men down when they inevitably turned on her. How many times would she have to play this game? She sighed, straitening her skirt before shrugging on her jacket. She could do this without weapons for a change. Maybe make this challenging.

Dammit Dante, things always got so boring when he was away. This would be a good story to tell him when he got back from that job… _But he should have been back already_, _Dante should be here himself to tell them to take a hike_. The little damn voice tried one more time. Confirm his identity, as if that could _ever_ happen.

Trish turned to the two suits, flashing them a smirk she knew would have them feeling funny between the legs for some time to come. Such was the practiced grace of being a female demon. Only Dante seemed to be immune to it. _Femme Fatal_ was a title she donned with pride.

"By all means, after you gentlemen." They would never see it coming until it was too late.

**BloodRayne**

Sweet nourishment tickled her raw throat, making the bitter edge between delirium and starvation a very real phantasm. Before she knew it she was lapping at the blood offered to her like a dog, suckling it until her stomach groaned, bloated. She could feel the blood kick starting her own sluggish healing system. Delirious with a satisfaction that was hard to come by, she passed again into oblivion. Rayne snuggled against soft, silk like pelts, warmed in a bath of darkness. Ragnark was the farthest thing from her mind.

When she woke, hours, maybe days…years or centuries later, she didn't know, time passed so weird like that…it was to unfamiliar warmth and the sensation of someone's hands on her body. Rayne blinked, squinting in the wane light of the room. She lay upon furs, before an open fireplace, naked as a nymph. Her hands reached for sling blades that weren't there even as she became aware of another's presence.

"You were out there too long. Your skin still needs time and blood to heal." Rayne blinked again, staring at the woman who rubbed thick red lotion into the back of her upper left thigh. The name came to her in a whisper. Not possible. She'd watched her die. They had been sistren, both bastard creations of Kagan. Both found by the Brimstone Society. Her mentor and teacher, her half sister, in blood and nature. She had been dead. Rayne had watched her die, her still beating heart pulled out from her chest.

"Mynce." The Tibetan dhampire smiled, showing Rayne the tips of her fangs. Her warm toned hand felt real to the touch. Soft and delicate, Mynce's fingernails scratched at her skin as she rubbed the lotion in, just barely refraining from breaking open long feline claw marks. Rayne shivered, enjoying the feeling of lotion on chapped, water burned skin. How? Mynce had died. Rayne had seen it.

"Rayne." Mynce's voice was melodic as it always was, distracting her muddled thoughts. Her eyes were laughing as she offered her half sister a cup brimming with the vampire's elixir. "After you've fed, there's someone you should meet."

Not more than twenty minutes later she was dressed and on her feet. The place was warm and with her recovering senses, she was fully aware that even if it was Mynce, trust was something-like answers-not so easily granted. What was Mynce doing in the middle of Minnesota in the United States? When they had last met it had been on the day of her supposed death, at the end of the war in Germany.

Mynce led her through windowless, fire-blackened rooms. Save for her room, most of the upper levels of the building had been destroyed. Many of the rooms and hallways were barren and empty. Occasionally useless furniture and half melted plastic hunks of large computer servers could be seen. As they moved down the long dark corridor, the complex slowly changed. New, shiny metal replaced the old burnt surfaces. White, well-lit rooms lined both of their sides, filled with large computer servers. There was enough electrical juice flowing through those rooms to make the hair stand up on Rayne's arms. Mynce continued to act as her guide, leading her deeper and deeper into the complex. What was all this?

"For us dhampire with partial sun born afflictions, being this deep under the ground is convenient. Currently, we are a mile below the surface," Mynce broke the silence. So it wasn't a building then, but a basement. "Humans originally created this place. They used it for biomedical and viral engineering research. I can only imagine what must have occurred here to create a fire that burned so hot as to melt metal this far from useable oxygen."

Viral research? _Ragnark._ The word hit her like a bolt of lightning. What did this have to do with the archetype found in her blood? Was there a way to use a virus to genetically manipulate DNA? Rayne was intrigued. Information was information, chances were Mynce wouldn't say anything she didn't want Rayne to know. However, that still led her to question, where was the nourishment coming from? Where was there a ready source of blood here? What exactly was going on?

"Do you mean to say that vampirism is a genetic virus?" Rayne asked, breaking the silence.

"More like a genetic defect, wouldn't you say?" Mynce asked, glancing over her shoulder. Her dark eyes were unreadable. "There is so much you can do with genetics. It is a wonder vampires did not invest in science and technology. If they had, Brimstone Society wouldn't have stood a chance." As it was, that actually had occurred. Kagaan and her twisted half brothers and sisters had sought to create a world purely under the reign of a vampiric hierarchy. After Rayne had put Kagaan into his coffin she'd claimed his territory as her own. How could Mynce be alive and not know of the land feud she fought-to this day, she might add-with other ancient vampires of the world? Something wasn't right here…

The pair came to a halt, at the end of the corridor lay a great set of heavy metal doors. Slowly the doors slid open with a gentle hissing sound. Beyond the doorway hung a pitch-black canvas. Rayne's nails pressed into her palms. Unarmed she could take on any mere human, guns or no. Unarmed against other dhampire-or vampires for that matter-it would be much more difficult to survive, considering her current condition. Rayne was all too aware of her own dulled senses having nearly perished in the cold water world outside.

"Mynce, how did you survive Jergun's attack?" Rayne asked. She had seen the nazi general destroy Mynce. At that point Jergun had been dabbling with dark magics. As head of the nazi GGG, or 'ghost hunting group' was it any wonder that the man hadn't gotten the drop on someone like Myce sooner. With out replying, her former mentor stepped forward into the room, blackness consuming her. Mynce spoke as if Rayne had never asked a question.

"When the humans abandon this place, they left vast amounts of research data. I believe their goal was to harness death." Mynce's voice echoed in the darkness. Clenching her jaw, Rayne stepped into the darkness as well, her eyes adjusting to the lack of light. "They wanted to become immortal. As dhampires, we inherited a unique set of genetic blueprinting. We age, albeit slowly. We heal faster than any human and even some full blooded vampires. We are stronger and faster than humans. A phantom gene in our DNA allows us accelerated cellular regeneration. For this process to work, our bodies much consume twice that amount of energy as regular humans. This energy is usually consumed in the form of hemoglobin." Mynce was still ahead of her, of that Rayne was certain, however Mynce was cat footed and moved with out a traceable sound or aura.

"Or in other words, blood," Rayne responded, gambling on the fact that Mynce would speak and give away her position.

"You always were a good student," Mynce purred. "Continue."

"Blood, which carries vital nutrients and oxygen throughout any organism's body, contains vast amounts of energy. We consume the unprocessed nutrients of our victims by drinking their blood. In doing so, we take their unprocessed energy to fuel our own advanced genetic system. In short, vampirism driven by genetic defect." Rayne spoke to the listening darkness.

"Very good Rayne. As dhampire, we are semi-immortal, or at least as immortal as we choose to be. Vampires, however, possess different genetics. As do humans. We are hybrids of humans and vampires, thus dhampires do not age if they can help it. Feeding often and regularly has been proven to directly affect our aging process. Our cells continually reproduce; continually renew our health, our appearances. It adds to our strength. The only trade off is the need for blood." Rayne stopped walking. She didn't like where this was going.

"Mynce, how did you survive that nazi asshole ripping out your heart?" Rayne hissed, her ire flaring. Her hands balled into fists, seeking the missing handles to her arm blades.

"I didn't." Mynce's voice was magnanimous in the darkness. "I was reborn Rayne." Lights flickered on in the dark room, momentarily blinding Rayne. Before her, sitting casually in soft velvet chair was a vampire. An elder vampire. Mynce stood at his side, leaning gently against the chair's back. "Rayne, this is Lord Kain, one of our forefathers." Rayne hissed. Dammit. Damn it all.

"A pleasure I'm sure." Kain's voice held a strong aristocratic edging. His nails, she noticed were sharp and black. Kain leaned forward, a smirk on his pallid mouth. An elbow met his knee as he studied Rayne. "This is the one then? Kagaan's red headed bustard?" He mused. His hair was long and white, tied back in a ponytail. He wore the signal of the ancients, a long red half shoulder cape with his clan marking clearly denoted on it. Oh yes, he was old. His clan's marking was nothing she recognized. His skin had a strange green cast to it, but he was a warrior that much was certain, born in a world that was much more dangerous than the present one.

"And who exactly are you?" Rayne demanded, her green eyes flaring with rage. At that Kain chuckled.

"Such impudence." Kain leaned back, his eyes watching Rayne with a satisfied gleam. She knew that kind of look. Kagaan too, had once had that power hungry look in his eyes.

"You have no idea," Rayne retorted smoothly.

"I am both your benefactor and your better." The elder chuckled, "You'll do nicely, my dear."

"I hardly see what we have in common you maggot sucking leech," Rayne spat, throwing a look between the elder and Mynce. Pain blossomed as a jackhammer socked into her stomach. Sucking on air, she blinked, looking to her former mentor and half sister still standing behind the now empty throne. Mynce had not moved from her place at the back of the chair. Rayne began to lean forward over the clawed fist embedded in her stomach. The aged hand-no claws-that were embedded into her stomach were quickly becoming coated with a fine layer of her blood.

"Spare me your trite indignation child." Kain freed his hand of her stomach, his voice a clipped, stern growl. "Understand now, that our kind are few and far between. Even with your efforts to eradicate your kin. You have several gifts I will make use of. Defy me and you will meet with an enemy beyond your hope of defeating. Dare I believe that you see the futility in your actions?" Rayne grunted, watching as that bastard of an ancient lapped up her blood, rolling his tongue over itself to fully savor her taste. Taking out a small handkerchief he delicately wiped the remains of her blood from his hands. He smirked, regarding her with keen yellow eyes as he tossed the bloodied cloth aside. "You're quite strong for your age. None the less you will submit to my discretion," His shark grin made a blade of his face, satisfied, hard, and unyielding. Rayne held her tongue, knowing instinctively that she'd run into one of those few deadly enemies it would be foolish to attack head on. "In return I will give you a gift beyond measure."

"And what might that be?" Rayne demanded, gasping in pain. Turning, he walked slowly back towards his seat.

"What you came for," Kain smiled at her, as Rayne slowly sank to her knees. "Ragnark." Rayne could only bring herself to glare at the bastard. Kain gestured to Mynce. "Collect what you can from her. Feed her and take her back to her rooms to rest. There's much to be done before this part of the game comes to an end."


	20. Damage Control

Hey y'all! Another update! Happy halloween! :D

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**Colorado Compound**

**Hunnigan. **

The compound had reached code red crisis levels. There were more wounded than available care supplies. The nearest relief was still forty minutes away. To make matters worse the commanding general had taken both key subject Lauren Star into custody along with the unidentified male subject. It was one clusterfuck after another. How Star had eluded one of their best field agents was beyond belief. Throw in a viral out break and more two unaccountable BWs in as many weeks and Hunnigan was pretty sure she didn't have enough aspirin on hand to deal with this. The situation was nightmare and the recent background check on Star was enough to send even the best crisis management detailer into a nervous breakdown.

That aside reports were rushing in regarding the end of another mini-bio terrorism outbreak just off the west coast. The CDC had confirmed the situation as an unknown, which didn't go far in the way of dispelling terrorist concerns. Survivor ration had been almost nil making for a grim picture. The president was pulling strings to push through parts of the protocol 13 act in order to place the few survivors of the island infection in her hands. It went without saying that the air space over the island had been classified as a no go zone and a full media black out were both in effect. Until the initial source of the outbreak could be confirmed, no one would be getting in or out of the island with anything less than a full decontamination and sterilization.

The island incident should have been one of the few things just below the compound in terms of priority. However, another particular BW infectee with immunities had emerged from this mess. He'd been recovered at one of the first viral flashpoints. Ironically, the infectee was similar in nature to subject Lauren Star. Initial field testing had proven him not to be immune, but rather, he possessed a slower infection rate than that of most humans. No doubt with some study his unique genetics could be utilized and maybe even contribute to Raziel's serum. She was going through all the channels she could to get the sedated infectee here along with any significant connections he may have had on the mainland. Namely a young woman, whom BSAA agents should have been picking up at the moment. She would be getting hard copies of both background checks on the recovered flashpoint victim as well as his relation within the next two hours. Two potential research sources to add to Raziel's Quietus program was nothing short of a godsend. Give or take the mass chaos currently surrounding.

She didn't even want to begin to consider the mess subject Lauren Star and subject unknown had caused. It was to be expected that punitive actions would be taken against Star for her participation in the destruction of military personnel. However, she'd heard everyone's eyewitness account save for the one that truly mattered: the field agent who had been on hand when the outbreak at the compound began. As for subject unknown, he was just that, a blank spot she didn't like leaving unfilled. No one knew where the BW had come from and likewise subject unknown-a man of undistinguishable age-had also seemingly arisen from nothingness. Taking a breath, Hunnigan pushed her glasses up to the bridge of her nose. She needed information, but first she needed damage control. Then she would need a shot, a hot shower, and two aspirin in that order.

Calm cool and composed, Hunnigan strode among military personal in her three day old suit. She found Leon right where she knew she would: in the worse of it. He was working with the recovery crew, trying to scrape still steaming metal off of very dead corpses and former friends no doubt. The casualty rate for this particular incident had far exceeded acceptable parameters. Once the military had been equipped with the right type of ammunition, however…. If nothing else, this particular incident went a long way in proving the usefulness of Quietius and any further research funding it would need. Quietus had more or less put an end to the bio terrorism threat at the compound.

"Leon." Hunnigan greeted him. Leon was grim, stepping away from the work crew.

"Word has it your science project was detained by General Einnel."

"Yes. We have a problem." Leon nodded once, peeling off his work gloves. Grit and sweat cover his brow. Turning the two of them headed back towards the compound, through row upon row of wounded soldiers.

"Star's actions have classified her as a high level bio terrorism threat," Hunnigan began. "_If_ she gets a trial, she'll be seen as nothing more than a BW with no human rights to be acknowledged. Granted there are no protocols for any of this, but we need to take counter measures now."

"It's a safe bet she'll never see the light of day, let alone a trial," Leon agreed. "You know General Einnel won't pass on the opportunity to make her pay for the lives of his men."

"We all know the risks of this job," Hunnigan replied, pushing up her glasses. "The loss of life here tonight is a tragedy but it doesn't change the fact that we need her blood. Judging by the effect Quietus had on both her and that other unknown person, we can't afford to let either of them go. If she has natural immunities to the virus then we need her, despite what her involvement may be in all this."

"Involvement?" Leon asked, incredulous. "She had nothing to do with this. Not any of it. She went strait for the BW that stormed this place."

"Just the bio weapon? Then all this was that other one? The male?"

"You better believe it. That man was packing some serious heat, but for all I know they may have been working together. They were fighting together. After they took out the BW, the other guy went off. He was the one that caused all this." Leon hesitated. "I think she tried to stop him, though I have no idea where he came from. He was pretty hard to miss out on the field, what with the white hair and all." Hunnigan thought for a moment, chewing on that.

"If he's connected to Star we need him. I don't want to leave any angles unattended. What did she do in Hope, Leon?"

"You've read the report already," Leon replied warily.

"And the last thing I need on my hands is a conspiracy." Hunnigan took a breath before continuing quietly, "I'm asking you." They had just reached only surviving entryway to the compound. The area swarmed with the wounded and medical personal. Leon looked around the to chaos of human life around him.

"She did the same thing here as she did at Hope. She went for the BW and only the BW. She had more than enough opportunities to turn nasty and she didn't. Whatever her motivation, she only killed bio weapons and the infected. She was even traveling with that girl down in the containment ward." Hunnigan raised an eyebrow. The containment ward was nearly filled with potential infectee victims. However, it wouldn't be too hard to find Star's other companion.

"I see. I have to make some calls. We need to find way to out maneuver General Einnel. Find out whatever you can about where he squirreled Star and her accomplist to. I'll try to pull some strings to get her under my jurisdiction. If we're going to make use of her we need to get to her. Soon. I don't want to even begin to imagine the kind of interrogation methodology General Einnel will be using on Star." Hunnigan turned to her partner. "It's going to be another long one."

"You could say that." Leon replied tiredly. "It's almost dawn."

**Raziel **

"Sir?" The voice roused him from his half sleep stupor. Swallowing a cotton mouth, Razile roused, head falling forward from the back of his chair. Blindly he reached for the red intercom button.

"Yes?"

"Another call from you sir. Its Miss Hunnigan." He glanced towards the clock on his desk. It was nearly four in the morning.

"Send it through."

"Of course sir."

"Miss Hunnigan?"

"Raziel, there's been an incident," Hunnigan was curt and to the point. "Listen carefully. As you've probably suspected we tested the Quietus sample you gave us. I know its composed of several differing blood types. We've yet to successfully reproduce the sample." This didn't surprise him. "However, as chance would have it we were able to detain one of the donors who's DNA matches the Quietus sample." Now this did surprise him. They had been holding out on him apparently.

"Who did you find?" He asked sharply, interrupting Hunnigan.

"We're still in the preliminary stages of-"

"Miss Hunnigan this will be easier for the both of us if you are forward with pertitant information." She paused from a moment.

"Initial reports that I've received indicate that she is called Lauren Star. We don't have much on her but she was recovered at the bio terrorism incident site at Hope. Not only was she infected, she was also effectively fighting of the mutagenic properties of the virus with her own natural anti-bodies."

"Then you have indeed found one of the primary blood sources used to create Quietus, however I presume this in not the reason you have called me?"

"Currently, there's been two more bio viral outbreak. My own laboratories have also been targeted. The CDC has declared a state of emergency and some selective parts of Protocol 13 has gone into effect." Hunnigan paused. "I'm asking for your assistance. We need effective weapons to use against the infected. Quietus is effective, we were forced to field test it, despite your warnings. We need your expertise."

"You have it, then," Raziel said without hesitation.

"I want you on site and on hand. Another person with a questionable ability to fend off the virus has emerged in addition to an unknown subject." _Who single handedly destroyed the greater part of half the compound itself! _Hunnigan paused for a breath, calming her ire. "Both unknown subjects have been sedated. However I barely have the resources to cope with our crisis let alone receive a new case to study."

"You've managed to thoroughly entangle yourself in conundrum Miss Hunnigan."

"That's not the half of it. Subject Lauren was detained by the ranking General at the compound. I have no idea what he's going to do to her, but I can promise you it won't be anything good. Further more, I'm afraid the General will detain the incoming subjects and all useful sources pertaining to the subject. If this new subject does manage to carry some kind of anti-virus as well…"

"I can see your reason for alarm. What exactly do you need me to do?" Raziel asked patiently, processing all she said. The woman was indeed in a spot of hurt at the moment.

"I need you to get here. I'll be calling the president shortly but since protocol 13 has been activated, getting air clearance for you might be difficult."

"I have connections of my own," Raziel commented. "There's too much at stake for the government to be firing weapons at every plane in the sky."

"The first step of protocol 13 is the governmental take over of all free standing media. The next step is to isolate the contaminated areas as effectively as possible. The military, the coast guard, even local law enforcement have been instructed on the second stage of Protocol 13. Right now people are being advised to stay in doors, locked away from the world. Law enforcers have been advised to shoot to kill when dealing with the infected. That aside, when is your estimated time of arrival?"

"As of now, my eta will be roughly three hours," Raziel replied. "I will bring what support I can including additional medical personnel and supplies."

"Understood, we'll be expecting you." Hunnigan paused. "Thank you Raziel."

"Of course," Raziel replied, leaning back in the chair he had dozed off in. The phone went dead a moment later. Around him the familiar sight of his office greeted him. Before him the desk still lay scattered with the numerous blood samples and early quietus creations. It was all starting to solidify, taking picture in the most horrifying of ways. Many would die, he knew, but they would die so that thousands and millions more would live. It was an acceptable sacrifice. Reaching forward, he phoned his secretary.

"Sir?" He took a breath before beginning.

"Olivia, we've got to move fast. Here's what I need you to do…"


	21. The Fullum Job: End Game

LBHE is up and swinging at the online party! Woot woot! *ehem* So an early update this week seeing as its turkey weekend and what not...seriously, I've got to prepare and practice my elbow jabs for the early morning black Friday Sales. XD (Last year an old biddy half my size nearly put me in a choke hold... O.o Seriously man, never get between the elderly and the last sale item...bad things happen to good people... shudder...very bad things...anyone else out there going to be battling the crowds?

* * *

**Trish**

The car ride was a quiet one. She sat by herself in the back seat. The two suits sat in the front. Half way through the ride, they had stopped and picked up another rider. He couldn't have been a couple years older than two in the front but for all of that he had more experience. Experiences, one could add, that showed through to his face, which looked as if it never had a reason to crack a smile more than once in a blue moon. He wasn't taken in by her charm. Easily he took the seat facing her own, making his large frame somehow fit neatly into the back of the van.

"Miss Trish, my name Chris. Chris Redfield. I'm here to escort you to the compound."

"I didn't know car rides were dangerous," Trish replied, bored. "I thought this was just a routine information check."

"Usually they aren't," Chris agreed with her. "You should know by now that nothing about this is routine." He cast a discreet annoyed look towards the front of the vehicle. Apparently, he was the one in charge or at least the one in charge of the two idiots driving the vehical. "I'm an agent from BSAA."

"BSAA?"

"Bio-Terrorism Security Assessment Alliance. The BSAA is an internatioal response to the growing bio-terrorism. We are sanctioned through the European Union as well as several other legal entities that wish to remain anonymous."

"Bio-Terrorism?" Trish asked, raising an eyebrow. "You're a little out of your league don't you think?"

"I thought that was supposed to be my line," Chris replied. He reached for his pocket and withdrew a photo. "You know this man?" Trish took the photo. Pale hair, closed eyes, strait line mouth. Even without peeling the eyelids back, she would know that face anywhere. It was Dante. This elaborate demon driven plan was getting out of control…if in fact it still was a demon revenge tour. Her gaze flickered back to the brown haired man who'd handed her the photo. She considered her options.

"And what if I do?"

"I don't do 'what if,'" Chris replied. Trish studied him for a moment. His hazel brown eyes didn't flinch under her gaze. He was worn in a rugged kind of way. He reminded her of Dante, minus the swagger and the hair color.

"And what exactly do you do, _Chris_?" Trish asked, inflecting his name with all the singular, polite teasing charm she could manage. She wanted to pique this man's interest, throw his game off a bit before striking. She leaned back, relaxing, showing off her body to its fullest. Anything to further her odds, but the house was in her favor and she was not only stacking the deck but dealing the cards as well. Physically speaking, even strong humans didn't pose a threat to her. Not really.

"I assess threats," he stated evenly. At that she smiled sweetly. To his credit, Chris looked decently on guard. Who ever these people were, they would never see it coming until it was too late.

"I was hoping you would say that," Trish replied, pleasantly. Chris gave her a solid look holding his peace and stupidly ignoring that gut instinct that was screaming inside. She continued with her sugar coated smile, waiting. His level of alert began tripling exponentially as the silence between them stretched on for a moment more. She didn't wait long though; she was a killer by instinct and allowed just a fragment of her nature to enter into her eyes. He reacted on his gut, moments too late. Lunging forward she summoned the rest of her energy, dodging into the gap between the front seats. Clutching the detonating time bomb, Trish drove the mini-electrical storm towards the car's dashboard. Chris was only still reacting as her shoulder brushed his lightly.

The dashboard came to life, all the little lights dancing and flickering. Plastic melted under her hand, squeezing up between her fingers like mud, feeling pleasantly warm. The radio screamed, its volume increasing tenfold at the sudden influx of electricity before breaking through to static which sizzled away to silence. The man at the wheel went ramrod strait as the electricity coursed through his body, jumping from his hands at the wheel to his foot at the pedal. The tires of the car blew and black smoke from blown gasket rings rose from beneath the hood. The suit in the passenger seat recoiled before reaching for the wheel as the van began to spin wildly out of control.

Everything was going according to plan. However she had underestimated these humans. She thought they only had bullets in their guns.

Two shots to her stomach left her feeling numb, the nausea and subsequent wooziness would come later. Meanwhile the car swung about on the highway crazily, swerving in and out of traffic lanes. Left and right other drivers blared their horns.

"She's fried the entire car!" The passenger side suit screamed. The driver himself was unconscious from the jolt, slumped to the side, his forehead hitting the side window. Reaching over, passenger side was doing the best that he could just to keep the car on the road. The engine was failing, sputtering and smoking now as the car slowly began to decelerate.

"Shit," Chris grunted, pulling the trigger again and again. More sharp pain along her side and on the top of her thighs blossomed into being. It hurt more than she cared to admit. Snarling Trish recoiled at the added pain, her elbow driving into Chris's jaw as she turned her attention onto him. Facing him, her free hand wrapped around Chris's throat as she pinned him to the back of his seat in a single powerful thrust. Straddling one of his legs with her own, she dug into her side with the free hand, pulling out the slugs. Gagging, Chris struggled with the crushing hand she had placed over his windpipe.

"What is this?" she demanded icily, pulling the small syringe like bullet from her side. "What did you shoot me with?" She pulled three more out of her side. It was getting hard to concentrate. Shaking her head, she studied the small slugs, dimly surprised that it was taking this long to process what they were. Chris threw her hand aside as the van swerved for the last time, throwing Trish off balance and onto the floor of the car. She struggled to sit up, clutching at the side handle, her arms failing to do more than purchase her several more than a few inches of upward mobility. How was it that the side driver's wild swerving was throwing off her usual perfect balance?

"Nearly 300 cc's of rhino tranquilizers," Chris coughed hoarsely, answering her previous question. _Sedatives_. The thought flashed across her mind. Snarling, she pooled more energy into her hands, closing a fist over the spent slugs. The hell she'd go down with out a fight. Sparing the humans had been a courtesy. Now she was pissed and they wouldn't be walking away from this without some major dental work in the near future.

"Have you assessed this threat yet?" She hissed, raising her gaze from the slugs she held in her hand to him.

His gun was level with her heart. He wore a hard face.

"You better believe it." He replied flatly, pulling the trigger.


	22. Fate of the Fallen

Okay, here's the promised chappies. It took me a day longer to get back to the warm glow of my computer screen than i thought it would. D: Poo on Blizzards, black ice, zero windchill, and stupid failing brake pads. (Only 17 more days till xmas and counting! Woot woot!) Anyways...hope you all enjoy!

* * *

**Lauren**

The world smelt like damp concrete. My legs hurt, my arms hurt, but mostly my shoulders hurt. It wasn't surprising. Only my toes brushed against the ground making my shoulders a misdemeanor discomfort on the grand scale of things. Without opening my eyes I knew I was in another underground room, still dressed in the rags of the stolen army fatigues. I could smell the damp earth, gasoline fumes, and gore encrusted on my shirt. The reek of it made my stomach roll. _Gee, choices, choices. Should I open my eyes and face reality or keep them closed and hope it all goes away? _Blearily, I took a breath and cracked my eyes. _Where am I now? _I grunted, clearing my throat.

"Name," a voice demanded, cutting through the silence. Bright spotlights flooded my vision nano seconds after the heavy clang of a switch sounded. The light wasn't strong enough to blot out the gore coating the walls and floor nearest to me. _Is all of that blood?_ Wincing I felt a small cut on my bottom lip. _Check that: is all of that __**my**__ blood?_ I squinted into the light. _Who's talking and what the hell do they think I owe them?_

"What?" I asked flatly in a horse voice, licking cracked, sore lips. The hamster hadn't quite found the wheel yet for whatever reason. Despite the racing thoughts, my limbs could have been lead weights.

"_Name_," the man's voice demanded again.

"Where am I?" I asked, hanging my head and squinting. The lights gave me a headache. My neck was sore and the effort to hold my head up was ten fold what it should have been.

"State your name." Blinking, I shook my head slowly, trying to clear it. _What the hell is this? Why do I feel like I have the hang over of the century coming on?_

"What?" I asked again dumbly, feeling cotton in place of my tongue. _Seriously, where am I?_ A black silhouette stepped in front of the light. I could barely make out who it was as they came closer. Even several paces away I had no clue who it was. "Who are you?" I croaked.

A nightstick came down hard into my side, the impact making my whole body sway to the right. For several moments my feet left the solid reality of the ground. I grunted, gritting my jaw. More blows came. Ten or thirteen in all, aimed for my stomach or sides or even worse, the still healing glass shard wound. Pain worked better than caffeine ever had and ever would.

Alert keyed up the rest of my brain, dialing into the moment in away the questions and the waking world hadn't. I was alert, wide awake, my body a fester hole of owie. Shadow person stepped away, letting me groan and swing around on my shackling. This was an interrogation/torture routine. I coughed, trying to get my breath. _Shit these guys need to lay off the mob boss movies._

"_Name_." The voice demanded again, impersonal and hard. I caught my breath and looked into the light head on. A defiant sneer touched my lips. _Oh so we're playing this game are we? _Waking up to pain wasn't the way these guys were going to woo me into telling them anything. They'd learn that fact one of two ways: the hard way or the ass grinding hard way.

"Suck my she dick," I grunted, curling my mouth into a satisfied sneer. _What's the worse they could do?_ _Kill me?_ _What a joke_.

**Matier**

The room was filled with sunlight, the scratchy sound of autumn leaves could be heard outside the as the wind blew. The breeze stirred the light filmy curtains, blowing them aside as fresh life was brought into the otherwise stale room. An attendant had opened the window, despite the early morning hours, claiming the day would be a nice one.

For her part Matier remained in the rocking chair the facility had provided. The soft sound of wood on tile flooring allowed for a more humane sound than that of the heart monitor. The elderly woman had found that she needed less and less to get by the older she got. Very rarely did she eat and perhaps even more rare was the sight of her sleeping. Age did that to a person, she supposed.

Day after day Matier stayed in the quiet room. She listened to the steady throb of medical machinery or the hushed talk of passing nurses. She'd long become accustom to the comings and goings of the facility and barely paid them heed anymore. The one sound she was listening for, she had yet to hear.

As silent as a sentinel, Matier continued to watch over her charge. Hoping, praying occasionally, that her daughter would wake up, look to her, and smile once again. On the bed before her, Lucia lay still, silent as a ghost. She'd been that way for the better part of two years.

"Matier," Raziel's gentle voice startled her, though years of training gave none of that away in her posture or demeanor. Oddly enough, when standing, Matier was little more than a hunched over old woman. Sitting however, her back was as strait as a freshly cut piece of wood. Matier nodded to the guest in her daughter's rooms. "Have you eaten yet today?" he asked gently, not moving from his place behind her, near the door she guessed. She blinked, her eyelids doing nothing in the way of shedding the darkness she forever existed in. She felt the warmth of a seven o'clock sun on her lap and knew that the brilliant light was laying in patches along the length of her daughter's bed.

"You shouldn't worry yourself," Matier replied. "Is there news?"

"Yes," Raziel's hand came to touch her shoulder. Matier could smell something sickly sweet emanating from him, underscored by a faint touch of something she could only describe as dried blood. Since the loss of her sight, she often identified those around her by the smells they carried with them. "We are very close to a cure for your daughter I believe." He hesitated.

"However?" Matier prompted him, breathing in that sweet sugar smell of his.

"However it would require that we relocate both you and your daughter to a new location. Will you consent-"

"If it is necessary then it must be done," Matier said, firmly interrupting him. The hand left her shoulder. Raziel shifted, a new wave of his smell crashed over her, filling her nose. He was wearing leather patent shoes, business shoes, not the usual comfortable footwear. She could hear the hard grinding of the unworn heels on the ground as he shifted his weight.

"Very well. There will be attendants here shortly to facilitate the moving process. It will be a twenty minute wait while we finish with our initial preparations." At that she chuckled dryly.

"I've been waiting years," she said. "What are a few minutes more?"


	23. Damage Control pt 2

Wow, epic fail on chapter updates...what is up with that? . smooth i know, you just wish you could level up your klutz skill bar to be as high as mine.

* * *

**Hunnigan**

Her cell phone went off. It was the sixteenth time it had done that in the last twenty minutes. Her heels tapped madly on the floor as she made her way to the elevator. Star had been located in the lower most levels. With Raziel and a small task force at her back, she was ready to lay a strategic smack down Einnel wouldn't see coming. She flipped open the cell phone one-handed with practiced ease.

"Hunnigan speaking."

"Hunnigan, its Chris. I'm the escort to-"

"Yes. What happened?" Mentally, Hunnigan was already estimating the odds of getting yet another red taped civilian into this compound with the shit hitting the fan as it currently was. Today was not looking up in any way shape or form.

"The detainee turned violent. I had to sedate her."

"Excuse me?" Hunnigan paused, reaching out the push the elevator button. How could a lone woman do any amount of damage to _him_ let alone the other two that were supposedly with him? "You did what?"

"Sedated." Chris repeated with out any inflection.

"I understand. I have a simple question however: how are we supposed to convince these people to help us, that we _won't_ experiment on them in any violent or invasive manner if you pump them full of drugs at the first sign of aggression?" She demanded.

"I have a man in the hospital with a heart attack," Chris replied in a clipped words, his voice a shade away from annoyance. "She stays sedated until we can get her to the compound, then you can have your little love-in with my blessing." Heart attack? How exactly had that come about? She felt a headache beginning to form at her brow, letting the love-in comment pass over her without comment. There were many parts of the government that did not want to see these people regain consciousness, let alone see the light of day again.

"Understood. Handle the situation however you see fit. I'll be expecting a full report once you've successfully secured the subject at the compound."

"Understood. Chris out." With that she hung up and stepped into the elevator, still puzzling over the last phone call. Perhaps the most enigmatic one she'd gotten this morning and she'd gotten quite a few of those in the last half hour. Taking a breath she tried to quell that ominous feeling in her stomach. This couldn't be a conspiracy could it? Could Star have been in contact with the two unknown suspects and now this third woman? _All good things with time_. The elevator chimed, its silvery doors sliding open. It would only be a matter of finding Star before Einnel beat the life out of her and then answers, be them foul or fair, would fill in the blanks.

The lower levels were mainly operated through computer overrides. Infact the whole compound was. Knowing that, she would have thought that Einnel would have leave smarter guards behind. It was easy to gain control of central mainframe. Only a few barked orders of 'stand down' and suddenly the whole day was beginning to look up. With a junior assistant egghead behind the controls, it was mere seconds in locating the exact room Einnel was using, along with the required over ride to cut the power to said room.

Hunnigan reached for her cell, using quick dial for the number she wanted.

"We've found her exact location. I'm sending the data to you now. Get a team together and be ready to move in the next thirty." Jabbing a button, she ended the call, switching up for another number. "Yes, is this the medical ward? Excellent, this is Hunnigan. I know you're incredibly overwhelmed at the moment but we have a situation..."

The trap was set and ready. Now it just needed to be sprung. With a pleased look, Hunnigan watched the screen video tapping Star's treatment at Einnel's hands. A coup de maître this may not be, but it would go a long way in securing a future both for Star and for the human race. Blackmail. Extortion. There was nothing more redundant. There was nothing else that was going to reclaim the situation either. Taking a breath, Hunnigan mental braced herself, preparing for Einnel to act in the worse manner possible. The future never disappointed someone who always hoped for the worse.


	24. Best Kept Secret

LBHE special holiday update. No matter your race or creed, every man and woman can harbor goodwill towards others, the hope for good health, and peace for all. From my heart to yours, I truly wish you all out there the best for your special day, be it Haunauka, Christmas, or something else. Share the love people and it will always be returned to you. :)

* * *

**Lor**

Night-stick boy-well technically there were more than one of them-drew his arm back for another blow. It came and went, followed by another. I bore the pain. I was willing to bet there were five of them plus whoever was doing the talking in the room. It was a small wonder as to how the blood stains had gotten all over the place. More than half of it was mine and these guys weren't particular about cleanliness. Nightstick withdrew into the shadows once again. Panting, head hanging, I focused on breathing with bruised ribs.

"You're making this harder on yourself than it has to be," the voice commented evenly. "Honestly we could care less about your name. You're to be charged with assisting in the bio terrorism of this compound and crimes against humanity." I spat red out. My side stung with every breath. I couldn't feel the leg with the glass shard wound. With every new love tap, my anger was getting more and more inflated.

"Crimes against humanity my ass." I snapped with swollen, cut lips. Several of the blows had made their way to my face. Half dead, maggot infested road kill probably look more attractive than me. _Their asses would be dead if I hadn't stepped in front of Vergil's attack… … … and been shot up with drugs as a result. Dammit…_

"That will be added to your confession," The voice commented coldly. I coughed, swallowing back flem and blood before hocking it out. This was going to go nowhere fast.

"Ain't you just a peach," I wheezed, "you little fuck nut." I coughed, trying to laugh. "Make sure you get that in the confession too." My right cheek was bruising; I could feel the tightness of my skin every time I blinked. I held the light with a dead gaze, breathing heavy. There was no response in the light or in the darkness. I didn't bother waiting for one. My gaze drifted to the shadows my captors were waiting in.

"You'd best pray to god that I stay dead if you kill me," I said wryly, when the cold voice had nothing to say. I wrinkled my nose, taking a breath and concentrating on the air I was breathing. I could smell body odor, sweat, the weakened sputtering of perfume, leather, mud, nervous anxiety and something a lot more spicy and prickly: hatred. A lot of it. Even Einstien would have known that though. "Because if I don't stay dead," I smirked, "I'll personally make sure you suffer for it." The floodlight snapped off, plunging the room in darkness. Mentally bracing myself, I waited for the blows to fall. I could hear the heavy breathing of controlled panic and rustling movement.

Nothing came. I continued to wait, silently holding my breath. I wasn't disappointed. Rasping metal against concrete sounds awashed the room as orders were barked out. People stumbled, and somebody-whether on purpose or accident-slammed into me. My chains creaked as more scuffling sounded around me. I slowly let out my breath. Something was happening.

The light was only out for several seconds before metal screamed. A window of light boomed into existence as metal flung into metal. Mini floodlights charged into the room, revealing the faces of the people responsible for my internment one installment at a time. Red lasers cut through the air, pouring in like a wave. Soft popping sounds ricocheted about the darkness as the first of my captors hit the ground. More soft popping sounds fill the air and a bee sting bit into my left arm. Another bee stung my right leg. A familiar wave of vertigo and dizziness washed over me as a voice calls out 'Clear!' _Goddamn, what kind of crack shot is this? _The blackness retreated with me into the back of my mind.

I came to in a dimly lit room, slumped over in a chair with my cheek plastered to a tabletop and a somewhat embarrassing pool of spittle dribbling around my mouth. I was handcuffed, my arms wrapped around the back of the chair I was sitting in. An I.V. dripped clear fluids into my left arm. I had a headache, but most of the other body pains were abated. I sighed, taking in the shiny metal table in front of me. It felt like eye crusties had been jammed into the innermost part of my eyeball every time I blinked.

"You're awake," someone said, alerting me to their presence. Their voice was hallow, flat even, like the voice in the other dark room had been. There it was again. That dulled feeling…like some one had put sound mufflers on all my senses. Other than that and my stomach trying to claw its way out of my body, the rest of me was in generally good condition. Leon walking around from behind me, coming into full view. His voice didn't match his face and in general didn't sound right. "You've been out cold for roughly four hours."

"Your room service sucks," I retorted in a raspy voice.

"Your headache is due to dehydration," Leon replied, ignoring my comment as he took a seat across the table. "We noticed that the rest of your other wounds healed with unnerving speed."

"I'm sure you noticed a lot of fun things," I said dryly. "Get me out of these things."

"Whether or not you get out of your hardware depends entirely on you." I raised an eyebrow. _I'm so not in the mood for this shit._

"How about I just snap it in half and proceed to throttling you until your eyeballs pop out of your skull?"

"Or you could try some Rhenium Diboride on for a change of pace," Leon retorted.

"Are you asking me out on a drinking date?" I snickered. "Isn't that you know, kinda frowned upon in some circles?"

"Rhenium Diboride is a type of metal; the hardest one known to mankind. It can scratch diamonds," Leon leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms. "Since the typical type of hand cuffs didn't work, we had some bracelets custom made for you."

"Oh sweetie, you shouldn't have," I retorted sardonically. Leon wasn't kidding. Whatever the hell rhenium bidboride was, it was made of tuff stuff. I was getting bruises on my wrists trying to snap them. They clanked loudly against the bottom of the chair as I tried, for the last time, to pry my hands out of them.

"We even made modifications to the linking chains in the middle," Leon added, watching me struggle quietly with a mild expression. "We replaced them with three coiled rods."

"Lemme guess, you went the extra mile and made them out of rhenium di-whatever-you-call-it?" Leon nodded. I gave him an ugly smirk. "Wow, did you get extra credit for that?" Leon sighed.

"You're smart Lor and clever, but you're not both at any given time."

"Excuse me?" I asked, tilting my head to the side.

"Most people would have wanted to know about what kind of deal I could make them before jumping on the defensive."

"Most people aren't genetic freaks being held captive in the government's basement."

"True fact," Leon agreed. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on the tabletop. "But then again, most genetic freaks wouldn't live long enough to see the government's basement, let alone realize that they were in one." I snorted, when I spoke next sarcasm dripped from every word.

"Oh right, and this is after you people try to beat me to death with night sticks right? Yeah, you know somehow my own little padded cell with four walls and all the stuffed animals I could want just doesn't sweeten the pot for me. Or maybe, if I get real lucky, I'll get a nice nap that might just happen to last me the rest of my life, however long that ends up being. Although, I think my personal favorite option that you can 'make a deal with' would be the part where your little interrogation process suddenly develops a bad case of illegal experimentation and exploitation."

"Despite actions of certain staff members here at our facility, we don't plan on short changing you Ms. Star," a woman's voice replied, carrying over my tirade. Leon's eyes traveled to the space over my head. Her heels sounded against the ground as she came to join us. _How long has this woman been in the room? _ I could barely smell her perfume as she passed by. She was wearing crumpled tan business suit and red-framed glasses. Her hair, while coming undone, was in an up-do. Bags hung under her eyes. I looked to Leon as the woman took a seat. He looked to the woman and then back to me.

"My name is Hunnigan, Ms. Star," the woman introduced herself. "I've come to ask for your co-operation on behalf of the US government and formally extend our protection." I blinked.

"Are you shitting me?"

"No," She said, deadpan.

"Really?" I asked Leon. "Is she for real?"

"Really," Leon replied.

"Ms. Star-" Hunnigan began.

"No, no, no," I said quickly, "You wanna talk about 'protection' and 'co-operation' you get me the fuck out of these handcuffs."

"You wanna get the fuck out the handcuffs, you'll shut up and listen," Hunngian replied calmly, her mouth a line. There was a quiet intensity to her voice that made me take notice. I raised an eyebrow. Her back was poker strait as she sat on the edge of her chair. Leon may have been a boy scout, but at least with him you knew what you got when you dealt with him. Hunnigan-this woman-she was a viper, deceptive as she was effective if she wanted to be. She was probably more dangerous than Leon in her own way.

"I'm listening." Hunnigan took breath.

"As I stated before you are hereby extended any and all protection and assistance the US government can offer you. In exchange we would like the contractual assurance of your co-operation." _Contractual assurance of my co-operation? Wordy…way too wordy…_

"And what exactly do you need my 'contractual assurance of co-operation' for?" I demanded. At that she got a faint, whimsical smile on her face.

"We need your assistance in saving the human race."

"What?" My jaw nearly hit the tabletop. _What the hell?_ _Shouldn't they be trying to lock me up in a padded room of some sort?_

"We are prepared to compensate you for your troubles with some of our misguided staff members," Hunnigan continued without pause. "I would also like to beg for your understanding regarding your restraints. They are not intended to be binding or punitive in nature. They are more for the safety of those of us present with you in this room. Until our negotiations are complete, you will be restrained."

"Are you brain fucked by a parasite?" I asked her after she was finished.

"It's a legit offer," Leon said seriously, "And as far as the handcuffs are concerned, I'd rather not be thrown into a wall again." I looked between him and Hunnigan. Both of them wore sober, unsmiling expressions. _Huh._ I chewed on that for a long moment.

"Okay let's get one thing strait," I said leaning forward. Hunnigan leaned forward as well, her fingers folded against each other. "We can negotiate away-for all eternity for all I give a damn-but if I don't get a cigarette in the next twenty minutes, I won't be held accountable for my actions." Leon sighed, looking tired as he leaned forward again. I looked to both Leon and Hunnigan pointedly shrugging. "I'm a smoker. I've been addicted for ten years now." Leon chuckled after a moment, shaking his head as he relaxed. My stomach gurgled as Hunnigan's eyes swept me up and down, her eyes calculating. I actually held my breath for several moments, wondering what she would say. She took a breath.

"How about we discuss this over a meal?" Leon let out a long breath as Hunnigan brought a brown leather business bag to the tabletop and began to root around in it. I gave him a brief surprised look. _This chick has to be bat shit crazy for him to be on nerve's end too…_ "So," Hunnigan asked, "what exactly are your preferences?" She was wielding a pen and pad of paper. _Food? Made to order?_ I raised an eyebrow. _Bat shit or no,_ _I think I might be in love…._


	25. Best Kept Secret 2

I'm back. First update of the new year! Anyway, as always, enjoy!

* * *

**Lor**

"Let me get this straight: some one not only took a sample of my blood without my permission but they also experimented on it?" I asked. "Better yet, its part of a weapon?" _What a mess…_ The cig in my hand burnt half way to a nub with out my help. The ashtray had been nearly empty two hours ago. Now it was over flowing, little cinder soot was smearing all over the metal gossamer tabletop. I was slowly working my way through the leftovers of my third helping.

"That's the high and low of it," Leon commented, cutting Hunnigan off before she could talk. He leaned back in his chair, coffee cup in hand while Hunnigan shifted, leaning forward. She was nursing a slow bowl of soup. Her back had yet to touch the back of her chair. For the last two hours she had been bringing me up to date on just about everything underneath the sun.

"Isn't that illegal?" I took an idle breath, drawing up my cigarette.

"Illegal?" Hunnigan asked, pushing up her red glasses rims.

"Henrietta Lacks," I retorted, blowing away a cloud of blue grey. "You can't take and use body tissues or fluids without consent. Especially for medical or experimental use, especially if there's some kind of monetary gain from it." Hunnigan raised her chin, her fingertips lightly brushing against the tabletop.

"You know your history," Hunnigan said quietly, unruffled. I shrugged, drawing my fork through the buttery innards of my mashed potatoes.

"I know my legal cases." I paused, sucking on my cig again as I scooped up some yellow potato meat. "I also know its illegal," I commented, "and that I'm due any money you're profiteering off my blood." I still don't trust Hunnigan, I don't have a handle on reading her yet. She's in control of too much, she knows too much. Its almost like she was a spider, spinning out information at her own discretion. _Another black widow with an ax to grind…_ She knew something about how my blood came to be a mass produced product. I wanted to know what she knew. Hunnigan regarded me coolly, folding her hands together neatly. Her impassive face left something to be desired however. She wasn't the iron maiden she thought she was.

"Its illegal to participate in bio terrorism," Hunnigan said lightly, the corner of her mouth twitching upwards into a complacently civil smile. "Which begs to question your involvement in Racoon City."

"Isn't it also illegal to beat the shit out of someone in a basement?" I ignored her implied conspiracy theory. Yes, I had been at Racoon City and she wouldn't be making implications if she had been there as well. That place was a nightmare. I really don't know how the viral outbreak had gotten so out of control. There were no survivors when I toured the place as it was I had barely gotten out of town before everything had been incinerated.

"This drug-this viral depressant-doesn't exist officially," Hunnigan continued, her hands moving across the table to play with a spare bullet. It was a 'Quietus' sample, the same ones I'd been shot to hell (twice thankyouverymuch) with. The stuff gave you a bitch of a hangover, but it was more than that. The Quietus was what put mufflers on my senses. Or at least that was the theory I was going with. Hunnigan tilted her head to the side. I glanced between her and Leon.

"Neither do I," I hazarded. "_Officially_."

"Officially," Leon agreed. He reached for his coffee and saluted me with it. "Welcome to the club." It figured boyscout didn't exist as anything but an agent.

"No wonder you don't have a life," I commented, eating my potatoes.

"Despite your discretion, I was able to dig up a substantial paper trail on you Lauren. I can see how you'd know your way around legal cases. You were pre-law before you dropped out of college." _Funerals tend to depleat your college fund, you bitch. _I grit my teeth together despite how impressed I was with her research. I don't like to think of the reason as to _why_ I was forced to drop out of college.

"Its Lor," I retorted, swallowing my mash potatoes. "Not Lauren." Ignoring me, Hunnigan placed a thick folder on the table after reaching into the depths of her bag. It had to have been four inches thick. I whistled softly, pushing the food tray away.

"Damn, all that's mine?" I reached for the folder and flipped it open. Medical bills, lots of them, slid into view. Academic records, dental bills, rent bills, police reports, credit car bills, in school suspension slips, even some x-rays and the occasional child services paper work.

"The extent of medical attention you've received over your life is appalling," Hunnigan's voice had a shade of disgust in it. "It's no wonder your schools called child services on your parents." My gaze flickered to Hunnigan. The bitch had no idea what she was talking about. I brushed the irked nerves aside.

"I fell down a lot as a kid," I flash her a smirk as I flipped through the folder.

"You also beat up a lot of your classmates as a kid," Hunnigan said flatly. "You were profiled as overtly, physically aggressive as well as socially withdrawn. By the time you reached middle school, you'd been labeled with a LSDL." I raised an eyebrow, sparing Hunnigan a glance as I shifted through my paper work. "It stands for 'let sleeping dogs lie'." I glanced up from the folder.

"Sound Advice. You should learn from the past."

"And yet history is bound to repeat itself," Hunnigan pointed out. Touché. With a sigh, I flicked the folder closed and shoved it to the center of the table.

"So what exactly is it that you want?"

"I've already told you what we require," Hunnigan stated, crossing her arms.

"And my money?" I asked. Hunnigan's eyes narrowed.

"You don't exist, we can't put money into an account of an imaginary person."

"But you can grant the whims of an imaginary person." With that Hunnigan let another small smile fill her mouth, although her eyes stayed calculating. They were hiding my existence by getting rid of any potential money trail. In all actuality they were probably killing two birds with one stone. If I didn't exist, who could come looking for me? Interesting. Who was out there that would want my blood?

"Exactly."

"And what about this?" I asked, nodding to the folder. "I exist on paper."

"Not any more you don't," Hunnigan said, pulling the folder towards her. She nodded to the folder in her hands. "This is the last hard copy of documented proof that you exist." Brusquely she dumped the folder into the trash bin next to her seat. Setting the trash bin on the floor she leaned back in her seat.

"Riiiiight," I sucked on my cigarette. So I was a national secret. Great. "Speaking of whims and wishes," I leaned back in my chair as well, "what happened to the guy I was with?"

Hunnigan raised an eyebrow.

"The guy?"

"Yeah, the man," I said, grinding out my bud and reaching for my pack. "White hair, destroyed the better part of your compound along with that monstrosity of a beast." I cracked my neck as I tapped out a cig.

"What about him?" Hunnigan asked. She was watching me carefully, impersonally. That curve to her mouth was back again. So was a slight twitch of her right pinky finger.

"Oh so you some how missed all that upstairs?" I asked carelessly.

"We are all very keenly aware of what happened outside the facility," Hunnigan said. "The 'monstrosity' as you put it, has been disposed of."

"And the guy I was with? You _dispose_ of him too?"

"Guy?" Hunnigan asked, repeating me.

"Really?" I asked her, grabbing my lighter. "I thought we were getting along so swimmingly too." I lit up. "Now would be a good opportunity to learn from history." I leaned forward. "I can be civil, but I can also turn on you with the drop of a hat."

"You'd never make it out of here alive," Hunnigan said coldly, unruffled.

"Neither would you sweet heart," I retorted flippantly, letting my finger tips play over the hard candy handcuffs on the table. Fat lot of good it did if the bastards weren't on my wrists.

"What do you know?" Leon asked, diffusing the land mine before it went off.

"What do you want to know?" I responded.

"You'd sell out your own ally?" Hunnigan demanded. _Ally?_

"What do you want to know?" I repeated.

"Why would we care about what you know? We can always find out information our selves," Hunnigan said coolly. _Huh, she's affronted. Nice._ _Now I can really get my eyes on something worth seeing._

"You suck at playing hard ball Hunnigan," I nodded to Leon. "He asked, because in reality, you didn't find squat did you?" I asked. "Not locally and not globally. Nothing to match is DNA, his dental, his fingerprints, or hair fiber. In fact he's a ghost, isn't he? A weird, superhuman ghost."

"Weird?" Hunnigan asked. I gave her a meaningful look.

"I'm not going to play if you're just going to sit on the side lines, sweetheart." Hunnigan sat quietly chewing on that. She looked to Leon.

"His genetics are different," Leon said, his voice strained. "From what the technicians in the lab have observed he heals fast, faster than you." Leon paused, getting a dark look in his eye. "He moves faster than you as well and if I had to make a guess, I'd say he's stronger than you too." _That's an understatement. _

"He does a lot that isn't normal," I agreed. "Where is he?"

"Tell us what you know," Leon said.

"Tell me where he is."

"If this is going to be a working relationship, we've got to have a reason to trust you. We've kept our end of the bargain-"

"For the moment," I interrupted.

"Give us something to use," Leon finished, "and then we'll be able to move on from there." He had a point, still the pecker woods probably wouldn't believe the truth even if I told them.

"You're not going to believe me." Leon chuckled grimly.

"After what I saw out there? I think you'd better try." I gave boyscout a small grin. He thinks he's seen it all. I think its time to get creative….I'm not going to lie, but its not like I can just blurt out the fact that Vergil's a half demon. Without proof, who the hell would believe me? Besides, I can use this to my advantage.

"We were partners," I say after a moment.

"_Were_?" Hunnigan asked.

"As in past tense, yeah. Honestly, I don't know what he was doing here. He just tends to show up when the shit hits the fan and usually leaves just as easily."

"So its common for him to do things like," Hunnigan didn't bother to finish, she gestured towards the ceiling.

"That and worse," I said flatly. I sucked on my cigarette. "He was at Hope. Hell, he's killed me on at least one occasion."

"Killed you?" Leon asked skeptically, taking a drink from his cup.

"In a manner of speaking," I retorted. "I'm harder to kill than most humans."

"No doubt due to the particulars of you genetics," Hunnigan said. She was writing everything down on a legal pad that had miraculously appeared from now where. I watched her write for a moment.

"You're keeping him sedated." It wasn't a question. All the same, Hunnigan treated it as if it were.

"Yes." Hunnigan didn't look up as she wrote. She paused and raised her head, looking to me. "We're going to wake him up soon, for an interview." _That's not good…. _

"You mean an interrogation," I corrected him, reading in between the lines. "I wouldn't do that if I were you."

"Beg your pardon?" Hunnigan asked.

"Unless you're blind, then you've seen what Vergil did out there. He'll do the same to you."

"So his name is Vergil then?" Hunngian retorted curtly.

"Yeah, like in that book."

"Book?"

"The Divine Comedies?" I looked between Leon and Hunnigan. "It's a classic." Hunnigan took a breath.

"You concern is appreciated and noted however, we've taken precautions." She rose to her feet. I snorted.

"Precautions? You've taken _precautions_?" Like what the hell good would that do? "Listen babe, let me put this in perspective for you." I leaned forward. "On a scale of one to ten on the evolution-o-meter, pond scum scores a one, humans land at three. I'm a four and on a really good day, I'm a four point five. Vergil? He's like a solid eight. He annihilates things like us for the fun of it."

"You're saying he's dangerous."

"Did I switch to French at some point in the conversation?" I demanded, annoyed. "You already know he's dangerous."

"Just as we know you're dangerous." Leon said pointedly. "You're not in handcuffs and you're conversing normally with us two."

"I'm human," I said flatly. "He's _not_. You don't fuck with Vergil. Further more after going out of your way to make him a temporary prisoner, he'll go out of _his_ way to make you suffer for it. He'll kill every person in this building just because he can." Unless by some miracle Vergil decided they don't pose a threat. Or if they had something he wanted, like maybe a cure to the virus...

"Vergil knows you though," Leon said. "You said you were partners."

"I also said he's tried to kill me." I stated. _Hell he's already done that._

"But you might stand a chance of reasoning with him? A better one than any of our men would anyways." Leon asked carefully. I looked Leon in the eye.

"Are you making a suggestion of some kind?"

"Help us." Leon said. "If he is that dangerous, you could buy the time it would take to sedate him again."

"Are you kidding me? Help you? Wake up him? In here? Why the hell would I do that?"

"Consider it a down payment on our budding relationship," Leon said, a small smile on his face. He glanced to his watch as he got to his feet. "You've got three hours to make your decision. After that we're waking him up either way."_ This is black mail._ I looked between Hunnigan and Leon. Hunnigan was watching Leon just as closely as she was watching me. I really didn't like her, but I didn't want an entire building of murdered people on my head. Especially since I failed to stop Vergil before. _They're so damn idiotic!_

"How many of your people has he killed already?" At that Leon had to look away for a moment before answering.

"One hundred and thirty five."

"And how many wounded do you have?"

"Nearly eighty are wounded or in need of medical treatment of some kind," Hunnigan said. "Not all of the deaths and injuries are from the final assault on this base."

"But roughly fifty percent of them are." I snapped back. "What the hell do you have to ask him so damn bad? What's worth your lives and the few remaining people still alive here?"

"The same thing we asked you," Hunnigan said calmly. "We need help preserving the human race." I snorted. _Vergil? Preserving the human race?_ _They are idiots_. "We would like to ask for his participation in creating an inoculation to the virus." Viral inoculation?

"What do you mean by 'viral inoculation'?"

"A cure," Hunnigan said. "Quietus is merely a stepping stone. The only way to beat wide scale bio terrorism is to prevent it."

"Like polio or smallpox," I finished for her. "You tear apart whatever healing agents are in our blood, mix it with a microscopic amount of mutagen from whatever viral ooze you can get out of a zombie and that's your cocktail cure."

"As unsophisticated as that explanation was, yes, we believe vaccinating people against a weaponized virus would be the best method of preventing its spread."

"You're asking a lot," I said after a moment. Leon tilted his head to the side, waiting. I sighed and crack edmy neck. "Fine, I'll do it. I help you with Vergil. But, we're doing this my way, got it?" Leon smiled.

"Whatever you say Lor." _You have no idea what you idiots are getting yourselves into…._


	26. Best Kept Secret 3

Fun Banter alert! Fun Banter Alert! :D Enjoy!

* * *

**Lor**

_I can't believe I volunteered for this shit._ The cigarette pack in my back pock were a comfort, but not by much. I had an entire carton of them back in my little containment-unit-room-thingy. Somehow I had convinced Hunnigan and her crew of scientists to hold off for a day. I needed the time to re-coop. I sighed as the metal containment door slide shut behind me. It was a thick bastard, blast proof and radiation shielding. _Was this really worth as many cigarettes as I wanted tax-free? … … … … …. … …. ….maybe…. …. …. … ….but even that might be a stretch._

The room was cold concrete, every inch of it. According to Hunnigan it was three feet thick with an added layer of lead metal sheeted behind it for extra oomph. They kept Vergil on a slab of padded concrete at the center of the room. His wrists were pinned in place by hard, metallic manacles. They looked as if they'd been bolted into the concrete. They were probably made out of the same metal my handcuffs had been made out of. I wondered how the hell they expect him to leave this place when they bolted him to the furniture…_unless they were never intending to let him go_… Bright spotlights centered on Vergil and his shirtless nature. _Why the hell did they take away his shirt_ _and boots but leave the pants? Why the hell was I the one to wind up in a nursing gown?_ In the icebox of a room, the lights were the only weak source of heat. The tip of my nose was already chilled after several minutes. Slowly I approached the concrete slab.

Vergil was laid out Jesus style. He looked pale as death and just as healthy. Slowly I made my way to his side. A couple of IV drips and heart monitor were attached to him. The IV drips, however, had that red crap, Quietus. So did the other tubes attached to him. _Where the hell are they getting this shit?_ _How much of it do they have already stock piled? _It was disconcerting to see that the stuff was actually working on Vergil.

"I'm decreasing his dosage now," Hunnigan's voice rang out through the intercom system. She was waiting in the observation bay with Leon. The small tinted windows near the ceiling of the room didn't do much to comfort me. I flipped them a thumbs up over my shoulder and waited. One minute flowed into the next. The bleeping sounds of the heart monitor didn't waver in their consistency.

"He should be surfacing in the next few moments," Hunnigan commented. Several more moments went by and Vergil didn't move. Impatiently, I reached over and yanked on the IV tubes none too gently, removing them from his arms and legs. The heart monitor was the next in line. I let the slew of them drop to the ground, before taking a step back from the metal slab. It would stand to reason that the closer Vergil was to waking, the closer I was to dying…or feeling excruciating pain. I sighed. The bastard still wasn't moving and I couldn't feel my toes.

I took a deep breath and inched my way closer. Clearing my throat, I gently punched  
Vergil on the shoulder.

Something hard punched a hole through my guts. Grunting, I managed to stay on my feet, though I was offering a kow-tow to Vergil's concrete slab. The first thing I registered was a nice small creator in Vergil's concrete slab. _Goddamn boy._ Vergil had actually torn his metal manacle out of the cement. It had been attached the concrete by half a foot of bolt. Vergil, the fuck, not only ripped that free from the bed but he was stabbing me with it. I took a shallow breath, feeling pain as I filled my lungs.

"You are such," I grunted, "An incredible _asshole_." My nails dug into his bare shoulder as I tried to keep my balance. I felt metallic copper in the back of my throat. _Oh goodie. I'm bleeding again_. Even if I had been expecting it, this was not a pleasant feeling. _Unlit_ _cigarettes are not worth this…_

"Lauren," Vergil said softly, his voice in my ear. I could feel the warmth of his skin, even in this freezer box. He took in the drab cold room, his gaze dancing from me back to the room several times.

"You must like it when I'm on my knees," I asked him, wincing. My legs started giving out. With my free hand I gripped the wrist of the hand he jammed into my insides. "Goddamn, that's twice now." Blinking Vergil studied me for a moment, as if _he_ needed a minute to process the insane speed at which he just annihilated my insides. As usual he was quick with his rebuttal though.

"You're on them so often, " his voice petulant. "Although I'd have to admit that there's a particular sense of satisfaction when you're on them for me." _Motherfucker_. I growled, my face inches from his. Vergil took in the room and his own shirtless situation. "Where is this?" He demanded, keeping the manacle's bolt end as still as possible.

"We were drugged," I retorted, my knees giving out, "remember?" I leaned on him then, gurgling blood. Gritting his jaw, Vergil briefly closed his eyes as if summoning the memory. I noticed then that the idiots hadn't even bothered with his feet, not that it would have mattered. "They wanted to talk to you. I told them you'd kill them." I grunt, feeling a sticky disturbing wad bundle itself in my stomach. "Now you're killing me."

"Someday I'll end you violently Lauren," Vergil said coolly opening his eyes.

"But not today," I report, wincing. "I'm a cute chew toy." Wordlessly, with a twist of his wrist, the pain was gone. Like cutting butter with a heated knife, that's how smooth it felt. I breathed a small breath of relief. The pain was gone, but the damage wasn't. Not yet anyways and if he removed the metal spike, I would bleed out. However, he needed me at the moment and we both knew it.

"Who are _they_?" He demanded, flexing his other still shackled hand. In a moment that shackle was a bent piece of shrapnel. Sitting up fully, he swung his legs over the edge of his concrete bed. Carefully, Vergil pulled me into a sitting position onto the concrete slab, keeping the metal bolt safely tucked away in the wound. His insurance policy if I wanted to be annoying. The wound itself began to slowly heal.

"I vaguely remember asking you to piss off and walk in the other direction," I said. "But of course, what's common sense coming from me?" My balance was off and my feet dangled, inches from the ground. I leaned against Vergil's shoulder trying to recover my senses and take what heat I could from him.

"Since when do I take advice from you?" Vergil retorted. I chewed on that for a moment and then decided I had no fucking clue what the hell the nut was talking about. How was that advice? That was me asking-begging if you want to be technical about it. Who said anything about advice?

"I don't get you," I grunted. "And _they_ happens to be the human race, generally speaking."

"Are you wasting my time for your own personal satisfaction?" Vergil asked, his voice laced with disgust. _Skeptics galore here._

"Can we pretend that I'm bleeding to death?" I snapped. Blood was gushing over my knees now and falling onto the floor. Even with out the pain, I didn't feel so well. Vergil placed his other free hand over the wound on my back, stemming the flow. _Gee thanks for going the extra mile there Mr. Personality_.

"Why am I here Lauren?"

"For the science fair," I said rolling my eyes.

"You're not answering my question."

"You stabbed me."

"You'll live." He had the nerve to look disgusted with me.

"I'm bleeding to death."

"It's a flesh wound." Vergil sighed, a hint of wariness in his voice. "Please don't tell me we have to do this again."

"Dammit, the hell we don't. You punctured my _flesh_ and made a _wound_."

"You caused your own misery."

"The hell I did! If your sorry ass could keep your pet demons in hell, you wouldn't be here," I snapped, half-turning to face him. "I mean seriously, what the fuck, Vergil? How does someone like you screw up ruling hell?" Vergil cut me off with the slightest twitch of his arm. Pain radiated through my core. I grunted.

"I shouldn't be the one to remind you that a lady should demonstrate a demure sense of grace," Vergil said smoothly. "Take responsibility for your actions."

"According to you I'm not even subhuman," I snarked. "Don't tell me to act like one of your garter wearing, succubus whores. You know you're fucking lucky to be awake at all Vergil." I paused, gagging for a moment as Vergil twitched the bolt again, as a silent warning. "They saw what we did to your pet. You made someone very nervous with what you did."

" '_Someone_?' " Vergil repeated. " '_They?'_ It may be difficult, but try to use adult words and labels." _You want a label eh?_

"I dunno, as far as labels go, half-human dick-"

"Quite wasting my time," Vergil growled, jerking the bolt to the side. My ruptured spleen pissed itself at that. Still I had to chuckle, after gagging up some flem and blood.

"Then quite wasting mine," I forced a smirk at Vergil. "I don't leave this room alive, neither will you."

"You think mere _humans_ could keep me here?"

"They seem to be doing a good job of it as of late," I commented dryly, opting to stomp on his pride for a second time. Vergil raised an eyebrow. He was bearing the insults better than I had hoped he would.

"And what are _their_ terms?"

"There's an infection. Its spreading across the whole damn world. They think we're special or a part of it because of what we can do."

"Ha," Vergil barked out a dry laugh, "Those fools haven't seen anything."

"That's what I told them," I replied, sighing.

"And why does this concern me?" I snorted.

"You mean to say, 'why shouldn't I kill them,' right?"

"I never said that," Vergil said ruefully, the smallest traces of a cold smirk at the corner of his mouth. I shot him a dirty look.

"You didn't have to. Out of curiosity, how long as the infection been raping your paradise Vergil?" I asked. He narrowed his eyes at me, losing his smirk. "How long have there been infected demons in hell?"

"Get to the point." The bolt in my stomach moves again, scrapping against tender new healed growth. I tried to remember to breath.

"A while then eh?" I chuckled. Vergil made my insides scream with another finely placed twitch of his arm. "A cure," I gagged out. "The prize is a cure. You help them without annihilating them, and they'll hand over a cure. Milk the agreement for what its worth and even your fucked up mind will find some advantages to being an ambassador from hell. Taking over earth, isn't that what your black little soul has always dreamed of?"

"Don't presume-"

"Feed that bullshit to someone who believes you," I cut him off. "Now get this fucking bolt out of my gut and patch me up." Vergil chuckled.

"As you wish little Lauren." The bolt slid out far too easily for my tastes. I could barely support myself at that point. Groaning, I leaned forward, willing my stomach to heal. Vergil slid off the concrete block, de-shackling himself in the process. He turned to me, studying me with sharp eyes. "You're a fool to think I would help humans so willingly."

"You'd be a bigger fool not to see what it is they're offering," I commented, sucking in the first deep breath of that conversation. "That shit knocked you on your ass didn't it?" At that Vergil chuckled.

"You'd better hope I come to find these humans useful," he held out a hand to me. I took it, sliding off the concrete slab and landing on uncertain feet. Vergil turned away, taking in the high observation windows. His voice was a low growl when he spoke next, reminding me of the very serious undercurrent of our banter. "You'll be the last to die if they disappoint me."

"Third time the charm, Lancelot," I growled back. _Though at this rate, I'll still come back from the dead as a zombie. _


	27. Hands that Bind

Hey guys, sorry for the update delay. i was making nuclear cupcakes...seriously...they glow in the dark and they taste FAN-FREAKIN-TASTIC! :3 nom nom nom Honestly, playing Fallout New Vegas while eating them...you should try it. (whispers) eat the cupcakes...

That being said, double update this weekend since ya' know...I owe ya. 'Nuff said. Enjoy!

* * *

**BloodRayne**

For a creature like her, demi-mortal that she was, time passed slowly when the sun was absent. Days, nights, weeks, months, years, she didn't have any way of measuring time. Nor did she care to. Time was meaningless to something such as her. All she knew of the compound-all those twisting hallways-led to dead end after dead end. The complex was a large one, a labyrinthine maze. There were no windows to an outside world. No working clocks, digital or other wise. No way to tell if the world she had known previously existed in any way shape or form. No way to tell if she was simply mad from her internment.

She gritted her teeth, her back arching almost painfully. His mouth hovered over her skin, yellow hawk-like eyes watching her expectantly. She opened her mouth to hiss, curse, scream-anything-but the gag kept her from making more than muffled sounds. Despite the uselessness of it, she refused to give in. Kain's tongue lapped over her exposed skin, making her break into goose flesh. The area around her navel quivered as one of his fangs gently brushed against it. The rope knots tightened as she pulled against them.

He'd been feeding on her since her arrival.

Sharp claws raked over the tight leather of her confining top. His thumb nail gouged into the swell of her breast, drawing blood. Again his mouth met skin as he lapped up her life like a hungry dog. The wound healed fast, as all of them did. He was taking his time today, making her feel every moment. He would pay in blood for this.

"No doubt you think me an animal," He commented, pulling back. She wished him a slow death from the bottom of her eternal soul. He chuckled, catching her smoldering look. "Consider yourself a vessel and me your courier. Your sun kissed soul could never handle the true depths of eternal undeath." At that the binding ropes cut deeper into her skin, drawing more than just red criss-crossing spider webs for once. _Consider yourself dead, vampire_. Rayne hissed, biting into her gag. The arrogant monster had no idea who he was provoking. Kain chuckled.

"Your blood belongs to me now." Rayne struggled as he lunged, mouth bared. Her throat nearly closed with the force he used, his jaw tearing open her arteries and veins. When he drew back again, Rayne was lightheaded. His chin was coated with a slick layer of crimson. "Be grateful, child. I will grace your unworthy existence with the means of surviving." He drank long and deep of her, only pulling away when her heartbeat butterflied in her ears uncertainly. Her chest heaved as what little blood left struggled to circulate. She growled.

"You've done well," Kain wiped his mouth with a flick of a handkerchief. His satisfied smirk flickered in and out of her vision. She would tear his fangs out first, she decided, using either a knife or heated pliers. The rest after that would be pure business. She would know what Ragnark was, one way or another. "For that, I'll show you something interesting." Kain gestured, off to the side, his eyes never leaving her bound figure.

Mynce came forward then, from the shadows. She came from the direction of Kain's lair and laboratory. When the vampiric aristocrate wasn't busy filling his bloated ego and gut with her blood, he sequestered himself away, playing at mad scientist. Rayne turned her full attention to the Mynce. The dhampire touted a chained creature, not unlike that of a human, behind her.

Whatever it had been, it wasn't a human now. Even at a distance, she could smell the decay. Sores oozed a dark obsidian black. The human's hair hand fallen out in chunks until unruly patches of scabs and tufts remained. The creature jerked along, its movements halting and uncoordinated. Its arms were shriveled and bone like with the same black, pussing sores on them. Despite the lightheadedness, Rayne's stomach squelched unpleasantly.

Mynce yanked on the chain she led the human by. Off balance, the human fell, sprawling out across the floor. His fingers-it appeared to have been a man at one time, judging from its warped build-were bent at impossible angles. As he regained his footing, Rayne could see the face was a mass of bone, muscle, mucus, and skin. It had no eyes to speak of, just two endless abysses. Its lower jawbone had pushed through the flesh with several molars clearly visible. Rayne focused on the creature, unease growing in her.

"Allow me to introduce you to our cousin," Kain spoke lazily, "He wasn't always as we see him now." _What the hell had Kain done to him?_ He had turned his attention to the mutilated human. "You might say our cousin is undead-as we are undead-immortal, after a fashion, as we are. Yet obviously, he is not as we are." Kain gave the human a disgusted sniff. "His consciousness does not remain after his change, so unlike our own and the means of his change are crude and elementary at best." At that a predator's smile spread across the sharp angels of Kain's face. "The creature can make any other the same as himself far more easily than any of our race can. His kind can multiply far more quickly than any vampire." Kain paused, his gaze darting to Rayne. "Vampires possess no immunities to this creature." Warily Rayne watched the new arrival. _Was this what the bastard had been working on?_ A corner of his mouth raising, Kain nodded to Mynce. Wordlessly she released the human-if that's what one could call it.

The thing moved fast for a mass of decaying yuck. Lunging, staggering, it scrabbled towards Rayne, crawling across the ground. It left a slimy trail behind it. The living dead man's broken fingers didn't quiet know how to hold onto her ankle when it reached her. Rayne held her breath, knowing she was far too weak to do anything. Hatred trained her to breath, a life time of training enabled her to survive the moment. Rayne wrinkled her nose, looking to the creature with disgust as it slowly worked its way upwards along the curves of her body.

"Ragnark," Kain said, watching the scene with an amused expression. "A norse word used to describe the end of the world. You so desperately wanted to know how the end would come about." Rayne hissed. The decaying human was slowly clawing its way up her leg, its open mouth drooling yellow black liquids on her leather pants. "This cousin of ours is the first of many more to come and he will submit to my will. They will all submit to my will. Then they will worship me as a god." The bastard wasn't crazy; he was dead serious. Easily, Kain snapped his fingers. Stumbling the zombie began to move away from Rayne, in its strange jerky way. As it came to a halt before Kain, a satisfied, fang-baring grin rode his mouth.

"Revere your creator," Kain snarled at the mass of skin and bones. With its strange spasms, the creature raised a deformed hand. It was pathetic to see, but somehow, the living decaying man saluted Kain. "Revere your mother," Kain said satisfied, wearing his predator's smirk. At that, the zombie slowly stumbled, shuffling until he had turned to face Rayne. Just as slowly the creature saluted her as well. Rayne's eyes widened with surprise. _He's controlling the goddamn thing! What did he mean by 'mother'?_

"You came looking for Ragnark in this city, the proverbial end of the world. I am here to tell you that you've found it my dear. I will deliver you into the hell of an eternal end." Kain smirked, leaning forward. "My army will raze this world to the ground. Unfortunately, you'll never live long enough to see the end, my dear." Kain leveled a pacifying Napoleonic gaze in her direction. "I couldn't have you destroying my paradise, could I?"

A clear understanding sharpened her green eyes. They would leave her here for dead, if she did not free herself. They were going to use that _thing_ and do something stupid. Kain hadn't made a point of telling her that his pet corpse could make other corpses without reason. Whatever that thing was, it needed to die…and to stay that way. Kain's clawed hand traced the bottom of her chin. His very touch, enraged her.

"What a shame, you could have been a successful consort." At that Kain laughed. Turning, Kain snapped his claws once more. The pet freak followed him, shambling behind both Kain and Mynce. _How was he controlling that freak? 'Mother' he used the term mother…was it the blood then? What the hell had Kaagan put in her blood? How had Kain created that thing?_

Struggling with her binding Rayne swore she would make Kain suffer. How dare the bastard leave her here to rot like some whore he'd thrown away! Her fangs dug into the sides of her mouth as the darkness about her grew still. She would survive this and then…then she would kill Kain.


	28. Faust's Agreement

Hello all! I'm off hiatus and have a giftie of many chappies for you all. Thank you for your patience while I got my house in order! I may or may not have a few more chapters to put up tomorrow, depending on how their editing goes. Enjoy the updates!

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**Vergil**

**Colorado Military Base  
**

"Its an honor to meet you." The man held a hand out to him. Ignoring the tidings of peace, Vergil stepped past the man into another windowless room. It was one of many in a series of windowless rooms. He sniffed, tasting nothing but stale air.

It was somewhat disquieting. While he was fairly certain that the rooms were located underground, he couldn't smell the earth behind the walls. He couldn't tell what materials the walls were made of. Nor could he smell the currents of wind outside, had the room been topside. He couldn't hear the shuffling sounds of people outside in the hallway, or the slight wrinkling of the man's clothes as he moved across the room, following him like a clumsy shadow. The man was a mere pace away and he couldn't hear the distinct thudding of his heart in his chest. Couldn't smell the sweat on the man's brow or the other usual human scents of breath, makeup, sex, or whatever it was this man did on his spare time.

A thousand and one tiny nuances-simple small things that he'd grown accustom to either ignoring of using to further his desires-were all stripped from him. Not that this particularity made him suspect to attack. However, he was deaf and blind; his senses were stupid. How had a human-made drug had such an effect on him? More importantly, how was it related to Lauren's extra curricular activities? Before him, a simple wooden table sat in the center of the room with two chairs. It went without saying that he couldn't tell what wood the table was made of by scent. Casually he took a seat at one of the chairs, not waiting-or wanting-to be told to do so by the man in the room with him. The physical affects of the drug were weak at best, as the incident with Lauren had proven, but the damning woman had made her point clear: these humans could be useful tools.

The man-with grey at his temples-had retracted his hand and in turn took his own seat. His midnight skin was glaring against the white blandness of the blank walls. He smiled benignly at Vergil. The demon lord resisted the urge to make a gory mess out of his white smile. Instead, the king waited, aloof and cool, willing himself not to throttle the man. _Pompous animal._

"I am Mercer Dwellings, Secretary of Homeland Security. I'm told you were responsible for-in part-of the incident at our Colorado Military Base." The man was clean cut, he could see as much, but there was something more to him than that. Faint whiffs of decay tinged the air. The secretary was sick. Vergil couldn't pin point what kind of sickness the man had, but it was fatal in nature. The scent of a slow death hung about Mercer like a cheap perfume.

"Yes," Vergil replied, looking Mercer in the eye. He did not expand upon his reasoning. Animals didn't deserve an explanation. Mercer nodded, as if agreeing with Vergil. The man leaned forward, cradling his hands on the top of the table.

"I'm told you're a good killer. Cold, clean." Mercer nodded, agreeing with himself. _Idiot. Useless decaying cattle._ "Merciless. We could use a man of your caliber."

"Could you now?" Vergil asked, amusement lifting his mouth into a sub-zero leer. "Perhaps you would prefer a demonstration."

"That won't be necessary," Mercer replied quickly. "I'm going to be honest with you. I know you can tell if I lie." Mercer's fingertips traced unknown designs on the tabletop. "I know you have no care for humans. I know you're not human yourself." Mercer leaned back, suddenly looking very tired. The hardened military façade dropped away to reveal the worn meat sack beneath it all. "I know I could beg you to help us and you would kill us all for having the nerve to ask in the first place."

_They've spoken to Lauren_. Vergil tilted his head to the side. It would seem her secretive nature had held out over the years they'd been separated. Lauren hadn't told them everything though. _This man is far too relaxed for her to have told them everything. _She would have also, with out question, willingly neglected to tell him everything as well. _Perhaps its time to have a little chat with Lauren…_

"I also know you're not immune to the virus, despite your abilities." Mercer scratched the back of his head. "We've run your blood through toxicology, introducing the virus to several of your blood samples. Every time, your blood reacted to the virus the same way human blood reacted. The virus was able to replicate and duplicate itself in your blood." Mercer watched him, waiting for a reaction he would never get. "There's something special about your blood however, and I'm not a tech so I don't know the details. However, what I do know, is that your blood type actually facilitated a faster viral take over, due to the shortened life span of your blood cells. Even with the sharper defense mechanisms of your white blood cells." _Faster viral take over? Now that is something to consider. _

"Where's your carrot?" Vergil replied idly. "What do you want from me, _secretary_?" The sarcasm in the demon lord's voice was less than subtle, but Mercer was man enough-or wise enough-to ignore it. They'd heeded Lauren well, whatever she had told them.

"Our purpose is two fold," Mercer replied, not missing a beat. A wry smile lit up his face. "We believe, in our possession, that we have a relative of yours. No doubt-" He cut himself off, nearly biting on his tongue at the look on Vergil's face. Mercer cleared his throat, quickly backtracking. "Ah of course, we would like to create a cure tailored made to your particular genetics. It may or may not be a lengthy process, but the end result could be the production of a more effective cure towards humans. There would be, of course, generous compensation for your co-operation."

"I am not one to be bought by you or yours, _Secretary_. If you _require_ my assistance, you'll compensate me in equal value," Vergil retorted, "as that is the nature of most worthy agreements. Fail to uphold your end of the bargain, and you and your kind will lay in puddles of your own insides as you are eaten by your dead." Mercer blinked, staring. Vergil leaned forward, an elbow going to the table. "As for what you _think_ you understand, I doubt you fully comprehend a fraction of it."

Twisting his aura, Vergil sent out a tendril of himself into the world. Along with it he created a feeling of urgency to travel along the thread, calling to any who would hear it. Mercer's chin raised a fraction. _No doubt the fool can see it now, _Vergil thought smugly, his eyes not leaving the secretary's face_. _It would have been more satisfactory if he could take in the palpable taste of the man's fear, as his hormones created that delicious tang in the air about him.

Behind him, Vergil felt the air shudder, the temperature of the room dropping. Nevan rippled into existence in a wave of arctic cold, heeding his summons. Being bound to him in service, she had no choice in the matter. Nevan's aura itself was weakened by the crossing of barrier between the realm of the humans and the realm of fire and brimstone. Though her body remained as perfectly put together as the day Dante had struck her down, Nevan was ever the fallen ancient. Whatever had been in the human drugs, it was wearing off. Vergil could feel the incomplete nature of Nevan's soul now, how her soul arm was still in the process of respawning her existence from the fragments of memories and experiences that composed her entirety.

Immediately, Nevan smirked upon seeing Mercer. Energy crackled as she purred, injecting everything around her with the rose color of wanton abandon. For his part, Mercer got pale, and decidedly _not_ horny. Or at least that was what Vergil's rapidly sharpening senses were telling him. Mercer's eyes darted nervously between him and Nevan as he held his hands tightly fisted in his lap. He was spooked and years of military training were keeping him from bolting from the room. _A simple auratic trick and the man is already pissing himself. Pathetic brute, informed, but pathetic. _

Not bothering to turn to her, Vergil growled a warning to Nevan, keeping his eyes on Mercer. Grin melting from her face, Nevan opted to ignore the human, going to one knee behind him. She knew better than to disobey his orders, no matter how indirect they were.

"My Lord," she said softly, in the most ancient of demonic tongues. He didn't acknowledge her presence. Nevan stayed kneeling, head bowed and unmoving as stone. She would stay that way until his consent of her existence released her from that position. It was the duty of a creature in her station on hell's the social ladder to serve.

A fierce carnivore grin flitted across his mouth, second only to that familiar sense of command quickly coming back to him, to be worn readily like a glove. Lauren had been right about one thing: he would use this advantage in every way possible. _Ah my little Lauren, what game are we playing now? _Had she known how well she had set him up in this position? If so, why bother to help him? The whole affair was affronting in and of itself. To receive _Lauren's_ assistance in any one thing was one matter. Having powerful human leaders buckle under his control, that was quite another.

Despite the irritation he had towards these pissants who'd somehow managed to better him-only with Lauren's interference, mind you-this situation was turning out to be more than fortuitous. Hell needed a cure to the plaque. If these humans had it, he would take it from them. If they proved themselves to be continually useful, as humans had a tendency to do, then they need not die. Even he could see the point in having a steady supply of cure available. Hell would not only succumb to his rule, they would worship him as a god with a cure at his hand. With Dante down, taking over earth would have been easy, had half of hell not succumbed to the sickness. No doubt the humans would find a way to delay any usable cure for his kind until they had saved their own miserable hides. He was banking on that fact. _Let's see what these humans have to offer. _

"Now," Vergil said in measured tones, "shall we parley regarding this agreement you wish to make with me?"


	29. Lancelot and the Lady

**Lor**

**Colorado Military Complex-Cafeteria**

My stomach rolled as I stared at the cold coffee cup in front of me. Nothing seemed less appealing than the sludge at the bottom of that Styrofoam hole. It was edging on six in the morning and the early risers were stumbling their way to the cafeteria. The late night shift guy hadn't stopped tossing me looks since his shift started at four. Just like the guy before him had at midnight. I brought a cig to my mouth and drew in a tasteless breath. My lips felt like wonder glued dust particles against my teeth, my tongue was grainy and rough. Too much smoking and more than three pots of coffee had washed out all taste.

The spice of variety died when I found out Vergil had managed to work out a sweet deal for himself. Burning curiosity aside, I didn't know whether I was annoyed or amazed at his ability to work a situation to his favor. But that wasn't the only thing on my troubled little mind. I was wired, spun like robotic car ready to be let loose on some unsuspecting counter top where I could spin my wheels until I either hit a wall or fell off the edge the counter ledge completely.

They drew my blood after the stomach wound healed. A lot of it, of course they had to document everything. They documented how much blood they took. Timed how fast my stomach healed. Took pictures of different stages of my healing stomach. They also gave me dirty looks every time I smoked and I received more counsel on how to quite than I recalled asking for. Despite all their explanations and their assurances and their unwanted advice, nobody had actually explained what exactly they were using my blood for. No one really explained how it was that my blood, out of the millions of people in the world, was one of the select few that held a 'cure'.

Of course out the millions of people in the world, only I had a biological mother who claimed to be the goddess of death. Or something akin to that in any case. Loki-that whore-had to have one of her pallid grasping fingers in this mess. As her 'official mouthpiece' I was fairly certain I wasn't going to be going to _her_ for answers any time soon. People were dying to meet her, literally, and the goddess of death needed some serious personality adjustments before the two of us could have civil conversation. _That_ wasn't what was keeping me up though. The riddle of the cure and the virus would solve itself given enough time. Until then I was just a blood pump.

Humans-the human race and the human government-were keeping me up and my head spinning like a tornado. Humans knew about the existence of demons now, however indirectly. Humans in high positions of power knew about demons. Pretty soon they'd probably learn about all the other things that went bump in the night. _God. What a mess_. I could already see a thousand and one things that could go wrong: people addicted to fey magic, vampires abusing the Red Cross, humans disappearing in the middle of the night. Even more gruesome, the idea of what would happen when humans decided to wage war on the world of the imaginary. _Fuckin A, I think I just condemned the human race to a slow death…._

I lost myself in the coffee sludge. _Was it a good idea to unleash Vergil from a drug-induced slumber? _Decidedly not_. So why the hell had I agreed to it in the first place? What in the bio-terrorism induced stupidity made me think that that there wasn't another option?_ I groaned, tapping the cup on the tabletop. _Vergil sure as hell wouldn't have done the same for me. _ _At least with the bastard on his feet, his demons wouldn't be running rampant…not like he had that under control to begin with though…speaking of which, how had the virus managed to infiltrate hell? _

So many questions and not a lot of answers; it was enough to drive anyone mad. I took another drag, finishing off my cigarette. The butt joined a growing pile of ashes in what was once an ashtray. I reached for one of the five packs scattered in front of me. The first one was empty. So was the second. The third had one final cig rattling around in it. _Story of my life._ My left arm ached as I reached for the cig, burning where the blood bag needle had been for the better part of three hours. Riding out the exhaustion from blood loss with caffeine went against doctor's orders, but those pussies had also gone pale when they saw my stomach.

My hand shook, unsteady from sleep deprivation and caffeine shot nerves, as I lit the cig. I took a hot drag, feeling the fire and brimstone in my lungs. The cig helped, not a lot, but a little, just like the two packs before it did. Slowly, I reached for my cold coffee.

"Waiting long Lauren?" I looked up quickly to see Vergil's smug face. I gave him an ugly look. _Fucking shadow ninja._

"Whatever you're selling, I'm not interested," I said. Vergil smirked and my tense nerves double knotted themselves. _There's too much stress in my life lately, without Mr. Personality putting a complex on it._ "Piss off."

" 'Piss off?' " Vergil asked sardonically. Some how the curse words rolled off his tongue like poetry. _I've got to learn how he does that_. "You know better Lauren."

"Seriously, leave me alone," I grunted, hunching over my cold coffee. "You make my life infinitely worse every time you're near me." Vergil only laughed at that.

"Then I would recommend steeling yourself for misery as your life is going to be infinitely worse for some time to come. Your caretaker is concerned for your health." Vergil continued to loom over me, at my side. _Caretaker? He must be talking about Hunngian. _

"My caretaker should be worried about other things," I retorted. I was so tired, I didn't think I could have brush off Vergil to make a stagger for my room. The caffeine wasn't nearly as strong as it should have been. I dragged the Styrofoam cup closer. _Yummy, oil sledge._

"You're not curious as to the deal I made with the humans?" Vergil asked.

"After getting impaled?" I rolled my eyes. "Anyone who knows you, knows you worked something out to your advantage." I sighed, brought the cup to my mouth. The dredges were bitter.

"Exactly so." Vergil agreed, chuckling. The double knots in my nerves tighten to near ulcer proportions despite my exhaustion. Slowly I put the cup down, keeping my voice neutral.

"What did you do?" A thousand and one things came to mind. It was more than I had the steadiness of mind to consider. For once I wanted a strait answer.

"I thought you weren't interested?" Vergil asked, a hint of amusement in his voice. _I seriously don't have the brain cells to play his games right now._ Clearing out my throat, I squeezed the cig between my teeth. The cup tipped over onto its side, empty, as I rose. Turning I faced Vergil. He was, as always, inside my personal bubble before I said a word. For once though, I had nothing really to say. Instead, I took a step away. I wanted to sleep.

"Whatever you say Vergil." I turned to leave. My heartbeat pounded in my ears like a drum. My breathing came in shallow gasps. Both were a testament to the unexpected downsides of using coffee in substitute of juice and nicotine as air.

"Then that makes this far more easier than I anticipated," Vergil's voice was smug, breaking into my muddled thoughts. _That can't be good._ I glanced at him over my shoulder. His hand was on my elbow, pulling me back into a shambling walk as he stepped past me. Somehow, whether he knew it or not, his thumb dug into the sore spot on the instep of my elbow.

"_Vergil_," my voice was a throaty growl, pain and a lack of sleep making me sound way more threatening than I actually felt at the moment. I paused, letting Vergil jerk my arm as the rest of me refused to follow. "_Stop it_," I hissed.

"I would say that this would be easier if you didn't struggle," he commented, a warning edge to his voice. He pulled me back into a shuffle. The tips of his fingers dug into my arm in a way that made my shoulder ache. "However submission isn't your style."

"Submission?" I asked, gritting my jaw. I pulled my arm out of his grasp and stopping. "Excuse me?"

"Neither is common sense, for that matter. Its time to leave," he told me simply, one hand in his pocket.

"I'll leave when I damn well feel like it. Not before and not after. You don't own me."

"No," He agreed easily. "You let humans own you." It was as if he was accusing me of killing his puppy.

"And they don't own you?" I retorted, warily. "The little half human they just bought? What'd you get out of it Vergil? A crack at the cure they're cooking up?"

Vergil just laughed, reaching for me again. I suppressed a shiver. That laugh promised a lot of hurt. Vergil was in a good mood. Never a good sign for me.

"I knew you were curious," He commented, pulling me off balance. I crashed into him, hissing.

"Get off of me," I snap, throwing a weak elbow.

"Cranky Lauren?" he retorted, shrugging me off. His free hand flicked out, snatching the near spent cigarette from my mouth. "You should take better care of yourself. The whole world wants a piece of you." The cig was gone, nothing more than a black smear on ugly concrete floor. I ground my teeth. "You smell disgusting," Vergil added. With him insults always had been free of charge.

"What do you _want_?"

"Nothing you're willing to give." He paused, looking me up and down, taking in my shaking knees. "You need to rest," Verigl told me. "Your nerves are shot and your reflexes are dismal. You were up the entire night, weren't you?"

"Why do you care?" I snapped, pushing at him. "Goddamn you're so fucking annoying."

"Don't make me laugh," Vergil retorted. His grip tightened and he yanked me closer. His breath was hot against my throat as Vergil's voice dropped to a deadly hiss. "Whatever you said to them, those humans assume we are allies, regardless of the reality of the situation. I will use you as I see fit and you will co-operate in the masquerade for the time being."

"Are you giving me _orders_?" I demanded. I blinked, giving Vergil a stupid look. "_Me_? You're giving me _orders_?"

"You and I need to talk," Vergil growled back. He gave me a brief, flitting look of contempt. "Preferably after you've regained your sanity."

"No," I yanked free from him. "We don't." Vergil gritted his jaw, studying me with those lazer eyes of his.

"It wouldn't hurt to occasionally heed me, Lauren," he commented coolly, all business. Had I been more aware I would have realized what was coming next. His fist came fast and hard into my stomach. I buckled like a new born calf. Vergil spoke softly. "As it was, I wasn't _requesting_ that you make time." The blow was so unexpected, I couldn't even bring myself to girder my pride. How Vergil had made the word 'request' sound like a dirty, foul cuss word was beyond me. My eyes watered as I lost my balance and began to sink to my knees. Vergil reached out, supporting me.

"Stubborn human," Vergil growled quietly. "Infuriating, dim witted woman. Only _you_ would take the matter this far."

"Only you deserve this kind of grief," I gasped, retorting. "Half human, blood sucking ruthless, motherless-"

"That's low, Lauren," Vergil laughed, cutting me off with a steely voice. "You're one to speak of parentage." His hands wrapped around my hips.

"Fuckin' cunt bastard." I snarked as he slung me over his shoulder. I grunted. Feeling light headed as spots rushed into my vision for a few minutes.

"That 'fuckin' bastard' is your care taker and has been _authorized_ to deal with you as he sees fit," Vergil informed me, spitting out the words with equal parts disgust and jeering scorn. "Right now, I say you rest. By hook or crook, you'll do as I say." My stupor softened the blow. Somehow…somehow…I'd known that Vergil would find a way to make me suffer. He didn't like the fact that I was the one who had gotten him out of lock down. Bastard probably assumed he would have gotten out on his own.

"Later I get love taps, snuggles and a kitty to torture right?" I finished for Vergil breathily. The curve of his shoulder dug into my stomach and was by no means facilitating the breathing process any. I let my arms dangle now, hands clawing his back to keep steady as Vergil steadily made his way out of the Cafeteria. His arm was snug around the upper back of my legs. Despite the obvious dislike I had for the guy, there was something lulling about the rocking of his stride.

"As you say," He allowed, stalking away from the cafeteria and the few early birds who were watching the show. "We dig our own graves Lauren."

"Then I'll be sure to dig two," I snapped, mumbling. He could hear me all the same, demonic genetics damned to hell.

"You do that," Vergil said easily. "That way I can bury you twice as deep this time. Perhaps you'll stay properly dead." I ground my teeth together. The OD on coffee may have decreased my physical pain, but it did nothing for that sharp pang cutting at my heart cords.

"If burials worked, I'd still be dead after giving your daddy's sword a blowjob, Lancelot." I retorted, breathlessly. Vergil made no indication that he heard me. Or if he had, that he even cared. That was okay. I passed out before we ever reached our destination, upside down and all.


	30. Chess Pieces

Hopefully I'll get more to you all tomorrow, for now I sleep though..its almost 1:30 am. :D See you all on the flip side...

* * *

**Colorado Military Base-Security Wing**

Hunngian watched through the monitors as he brought Lauren to their joint sleeping quarters. No doubt he knew he was being monitored closely. He offered a knowing simper to the surveillance camera at the room's entrance before disappearing in the blackness of the room. Lauren hung limply over his shoulder, like some kind of hunting trophy.

"What do you make of him?" Leon asked quietly from beside her.

"He's everything Lauren said he would be. Dangerous, smart, and untrustworthy." She paused. "He's a one man killing machine with the brains to manipulate any given situation. He's deadly."

"Strong too," Leon replied leaning back. "Trained killer. The brass was spooked by him."

"That much was made evident when he inflicted injury on Star," Hunnigan replied evenly. "The matter was only further confirmed during the negotiations with the man. If the term 'man,' or even 'human' for that matter, is the proper pronoun to associate with him."

"As was his disregard for his twin's medical situation," Leon commented, hedging into the meat of the matter. DNA compatibility tests had confirmed the relation between the now up and walking 'Vergil' and the man who'd been shipped in not more than 16 hours ago. Vergil had been given opportunity to see the condition of his brother for himself, but had a demonstrated serious disdain for the idea. They were twins, identical twins. She had to wonder how closely their personalities followed suite. Did Star know of the existence of his twin, for that matter? It stood to reason that she might. Hunnigan made a mental note to speak with her regarding the matter. Preferably when she wasn't around her newly appointed 'guardian'.

"Cold, merciless, controlling, calculating, possibly socially withdrawn, outright manipulative, charismatic in his own right," Hunnigan ticked off the list on her fingers. "If he was a patient I'd have diagnosed him as a sadistic sociopath."

"If you were still practicing," Leon finished for her. Hunnigan nodded. She turned her back on the surveillance monitors.

"If he was a _normal_ man," Hunnigan amended. "There's no doubt in my mind that Lauren Star will be instrumental in keeping him in check."

"And if she isn't enough?"

"He expressed a genuine interest in a useable cure. Went as far as to offer up one of his subordinates for testing purposes. That is the only reason he would agree to anything. Once he has his cure, we'll need an escape strategy."

"Quietus seemed effective as a sedative." Leon shifted, leaning against the surveillance monitors as well.

"It took several companies pumping him full of it for any noticeable effect to be made evident. We lost a lot of people to put him under," Hunnigan replied. "Keeping him under seriously depleted what little of a stockpile we had accumulated. If Quietus could be augmented in some way, made to be more effect, we'd have a check-mate weapon then. Toxicology showed that his genetics actually process Quietus faster than human blood does. Ironically, those same genetics also make it nearly impossible for any drug to activate and circulate in his blood stream."

Hunnigan took a moment to collect her thoughts. Vergil's twin further proved this point. It had taken nearly twenty infectees to decimate his immune system long enough for the T virus to active and circulate in his bloodstream. Even then, the shortened life span of his body cells had actually assisted in preventing the virus from taking over completely. Hence the reason they were able to recover him at all after sanitizing the island in question. Their genetics may be a segway into something useful. Raziel could more than likely figure something out.

"Perhaps," Hunnigan said slowly, "modifying a more aggressive communicable property to Quietus would prove more effective against him."

"That's dangerous talk," Leon commented lightly. "That kind of talk developed the T virus."

"Our hands are bound. We need some insurance. Let's just hope we never have to take out our policy on _him_. I can't imagine that going over any better than it did before." Leon chewed on that for a moment.

"What do you suppose their history is?" he mused , referring to Star and Vergil with a nod towards the now blank monitor. Hunnigan took off her glasses and massaged the bridge of her nose.

"I've no idea. At times they seem close yet there's an undercurrent there. Something happened between them, it obviously wasn't pleasant whatever it was. More so for Star than him, I'd wager. I'll have to continue to dig into Star's past to find out more. We still don't have much, if anything, on him. He's practically a blank book." Hunnigan put her glasses on again, frowning.

'He's following Lauren's movements closely. There's a safe bet there's something more to that. He knows her blood is special, maybe he knows why. If anything comes from the testing done on his blood and by some miracle a cure is found for his genetics, perhaps his brother would be more illuminating on the subject."

"I wouldn't hold my breath. Star made it sound as if Vergil were in a position of power and that he was there for good reason. He knows we're using Star. He's keeping an eye on our control over her. His brother will be about as much help as a hole in a window." Leon's voice was laced with disgust.

"He wants an effective monopoly over her, something he can utilize in a moment's notice if things don't go his way," Hunnigan agreed. "He's far too shrewd for us to do anything but be honest with him. On the other hand, Star may not know of Vergil's brother's condition. She may know of him, but not of his current condition. Informing Star of his brother's condition with Vergil present might stir up some interesting conversation. There might even be a development worth noting."

"You're giving him too much credit. He's not a god," Leon reminded her, "We put him down once."

"I'm starting to think that was sheer luck," Hunnigan said. "In any case, I think honesty would be the best policy when dealing with these two. Star especially, seems to prefer and even appreciate an honest explanation or opinion. Whether or not we get one from her in return is a different matter."

"The whole thing is a bit shady isn't it?" Leon asked. "We have three people on our hands that, just three weeks ago, couldn't exist."

"Four," Hunnigan corrected him.

"Four?" Leon glanced over to her, surprised. She sighed, straightening.

"Redfield found and sedated a woman related to Vergil's brother in some manner. He was bringing her in for identification purposes only. According to Redfield she attacked first. He was able to subdue her however. They'll both be arriving in two hours." Leon was a blank board as he took in the news. His military training was firmly in place, dealing with the new development.

"You think this is an indicator that there are more like them out there?"

"Officially, I can't comment on that," Hunnigan gave Leon a wry smile. "Unofficially, I'd say yes, there are probably a lot more like them out there. If these four are any indication." Straitening her shoulders, Hunnigan walked towards the room's door. "You're off duty for now. Keep your communicator close though, we may have a live wire on our hands shortly."

"Roger that," Leon replied, grinning. "You up for a round with me and Redfield at the bar later?"

"Always," Hunnigan replied, stepping out.


	31. Chess Pieces 2

I know this is later than all hell, and I'm sorry about that...but its spring break now and i can finally give you guys a couple rounds of chapter love. (No joke, i swear, even if it is april first...) Anyways, **THANK YOU ALL** for your kind words and well wishing! I will be getting back to reviews and whatnot shortly within the next few days! Enjoy!

* * *

**Containment Ward A**

"You wished to see me, Ms. Hunnigan," he asked. His voice was calm, soothing even, after the stressful ordeal of recent activities. There were so many loose ends to tie up yet… For better or worse, most of the personnel at the base-those origional surviving personnel and those specialists currently being shipped in-were locked into working here. The base was now-by command of the president in conjunction with the BSAA-the base of operations against bio-terrorism. Far too many critical things were occurring to coordinate any sort of divisional branches. So for now everything, all means of defeating this viral epidemic, was all located in one place. Should the wrong people with the right kind of nuclear technology discover this facility, well chances were the fallout wouldn't stop falling from the sky for the next hundred years.

Within the highly structured organization of the complex, few knew about the man, Vergil, and his peculiar arrangements with the national government. Even less knew about Raziel and his genetic research on the virus. Only those in the know even heard rumors of Lauren's existence. It took a near anal-retentive obsession with her her job, but Hunnigan made sure that it stayed that way.

"Yes, I have a peculiar favor to ask," Hunnigan began, her attention focusing to the present matter at hand. She was ill at ease in Raziel's laboratories. Despite that fact that most of his staff-a handful of people, ten at most-had transferred with him, it seemed unnatural to have a previous patient transferred as well. Raziel had claimed they were all vital to his work. Human experimentation didn't sit well with her personally, however the Brass was willing to over look a few things if the ends justified the means. "You received the blood samples I sent you earlier?"

Raziel glanced over to her, his green eyes questioning but sharp. He had been in the process of leaning over a microscope, fitting a slide for viewing.

"… ... …Of course."

"It was your lab technicians that determined the DNA make up was different than that of a normal humans?" she asked, crossing her arms. "I read your report carefully," she added.

"Yes," Raziel straitened, turning to face her. His hair was pulled back in a scruffy pony tale, she noted absentmindedly, and fell nearly to his waist. She watched Raziel intently, noting the careful precision he took when moving. It was almost as if he moved with an awkward sort of grace. Long black bangs carelessly framed the sharp angles of his face, highlighting the acute awareness in his expression. "The genetic DNA was unlike anything we've encountered."

"You said the blood cells actually sped up a viral infection rate."

"Yes," Raziel's face was patient though questioning. "The short life span of the blood cells forced the virus to adapt to its habitat. Thus the virus had to compensate for a shorter replication period and went into over drive, so to speak, in order to replicate before the host blood cell died." He paused. "Miss Hunnigan, how does this relate to your favor?"

"I'll get to that in a minute," Hunnigan said with a sigh. "I would like to know, the secondary sample I sent you…"

"It was of approximate identical genetic make up."

"I mean, did the virus behave the same way? In both the samples?"

"Due to the close relation of the two genetic donors, yes the virus behaved the same way with the second sample as it did the first. Its not surprising, as the two donors were brothers." He gave Hunnigan a small knowing smirk. "It would be poor work if I had failed to notice the genetic similarities of the two samples."

"Hm, I see." Hunnigan thought for a moment, allowing the silence to fill the space between them. About them, technicians worked quietly, talking amongst each other. The sole patient Raziel had transported to the facility with him was in her own room, next door to the infected girl Leon had recovered from Hope. Raziel was quiet and waited uncomplainingly while she gathered her thoughts. "Have you by any chance, tested out the quietus serum on these two blood samples?"

"No although I do believe it would take much longer for Quietus to saturate a blood cell then a virus."

"Why would that be?" Hunnigan asked warily, a hand going to the bridge of her nose. Of course nothing would be that easy.

"As you're probably aware no drug has an instantaneous effect. Drugs work over time as they slowly move through a body's systems. In the case of quietus, it is a question of what the virus does and what the viral sedative attempts to prevent that makes your question a precursor for a lengthy answer."

"I have time." Raziel nodded at that.

"In that case, may want to take a seat," He gestured to his rolling lab chair. Carefully Hunnigan perched on the chair, tense.

"In order to understand how quietus works, we must understand the nature of a virus. Normally a virus uses its own genetic code to create and produce more of itself. People become infected with a virus only after the virus has taken over some of the host's DNA and commits an RNA-kidnapping within a red blood cell. From there the virus synthesizes its own DNA and RNA, mixing it with the host cell's DNA when it returns the kid napped genetic material. The infected blood cell then continues to create copies of itself using the viral DNA and RNA."

"Yes I've learned this," Hunnigan agreed. "The virus uses a host cell as a copy machine, in order to create more the same viral strand. It then sends out those viral copies to take over other host cells. This process allows a virus to reproduce at a near exponential growth."

"Correct," Raziel nodded. "in the case of the T virus, this is what makes the virus so deadly. Due to the genetic nature of the virus, there is a dormant 1 percent of the viral DNA that may or may not possess evolutionary capabilities." Hunnigan's gaze snapped to Raziel.

"Evolutionary capabilities?" She demanded.

"This is nothing new," Raziel quickly reassured her, "Every living organism has a certain amount of DNA that is carried from generation to generation, unused. This 1 percent is believed to hold fail-safes that ensure a particular species ability to survival sudden habitat changes or the introduction of new stimuli into their native habitat."

"And what does that have to do with Quietus? Or my question for that matter?"

"Quietus seeks to eliminate a virus's protective mechanisms. In lay men's terms, Quietus inhibits both the viral and host DNA from activating it's failsafe survival skills. Quietus was designed to rewind a host cell using the materials found within the cell itself. When the cell is rewound into a non-infected state, it then carries immunities to the virus itself," Raziel explained. "Or so that was the idea behind Quietus. As we both know, quietus is only partially completed and as such acts as a sedative to the virus, hindering viral production but not stopping it completely."

Hunnigan opened her mouth. Raziel raised a hand, cutting her off.

"The reason Quietus is not as effective on the two samples you sent me is due to the same reason that the virus was able to so quickly take over the sample. Quietus was designed to work on normal human genetics. The shortened blood cell life spans prohibits Quiets from working as a true viral sedative. Only with doubled the amount, does any noticeable effect begin to show up. More so, it takes a quadruple dosage of quietus for the full effects of the sedative to work as it does within human parameters."

"You mean to say the very thing that makes the blood samples weak to the virus only further weakens it by rejecting any useful effects of the drug?"

"Essentially, yes."

"Surprising."

"I would say so."

"Would there be any way to make Quietus an effective sedative to those who possessed this unique genetic defect?"

"I wouldn't call it a genetic defect," Raziel corrected her. "Their genetics are simply not entirely human."

"But could it be done?" she asked impatiently. He noted that she pointedly avoided his last statement, and with that admission, she essentially confirmed what he already knew to be true. Sparda's spawnlings were already here it would seem.

"Yes," Raziel said after a long moment's consideration. "It could be done." He rubbed the back of his neck with a hand. "You don't seem surprised to find that the blood samples are a little bit less than human."

"What would you need to make quietus an effective sedative? Not just to normal humans, but to…different…humans as well?" Hunnigan hazarded, fumbling over her word choice while simultaneously ignoring his second question. She wanted the winner take all answer to the conundrum she found herself in and she wanted it now.

"You mean humans with this kind of genetic 'defect'?" She nodded. Raziel leveled a serious look at her.

"And?" she demanded raising her chin.

"It is a very rare defect," Raziel said calmly, quietly, "to be less than human."

"Or _more_ than human," Hunnigan countered. She studied Raziel over the rims of her glasses. "As you seem to be at times, with your speed in processing genetics." At that Raziel gave her a benign smile, rocking back on his heels.

"Ah, as expected from a top notch government agent."

"They said it was a waste of time," Hunnigan waved a hand in the air. "Yet they pay me to be careful with the details. I don't care what you are so long as you're on our side."

"And what side would that be, Ms. Hunnigan?"

"The one that does the surviving, preferably uninfected," Hunnigan retorted simply.

"And this is why I find your company refreshing," Raziel chuckled. "In order to beef up Quietus to a usable parameters for, shall we say, _other_ humans, I would need more."

"_More_?" Raziel raised an eyebrow, throwing a discrete look towards the two infectees that currently inhabited the private contamination ward.

"I would need more samples from others with this genetic defect. I would also need samples from other infectees. Any further enhancement of quietus would only further benefit those of normal DNA parameters as well as those of, um, _abnormal_ parameters." Hunnigan sighed, her shoulders drooping a little as her gaze traveled to the arms crossed over her chest. "It is a very unfortunate turn of events, no?" Raziel said gently. Hunnigan raised her face, looking to Raziel. "Let us pray, that such an opportunity never arises."

"In this day and age, Raziel," Hunnigan rose to her feet, "Praying does little good. God does not care to see what we've done to ourselves." She nodded her thanks to him. "You've been very helpful." She turned to leave.

"Ms. Hunnigan?"

"Yes," she paused, turning back towards him.

"Should the potency of quietus be increased to compensate for a shorter blood cell life span there would be, theoretically, a dangerous side effect of this drug to normal humans."

"It would kill normal humans," Hunnigan finished tiredly. Raziel regarded her with mild surprise.

"How did you know?"

"That's usually the case with enhanced drugs of any sort."

"More so in this particular situation I would think," Raziel agreed. "If I may ask, what would your people do with such a drug Ms. Hunnigan?"

"Most likely upkeep our word," Hunnigan replied. Raziel thought for a moment. She was no doubt, referring the mess Lauren and Sparda's spawnlings were creating.

"Ms. Hunnigan, what was your favor exactly?" Hunnigan gave him a clipped, icy smile.

"Make Quietus accessible to all that need it. Even to those outside of normal genetic parameters."

"I will endeavor to do my best," Raziel said with a small bow. "If you need any assistance with anything, by all means, you know where to find me." With a quiet nod, Hunnigan left the laboratory. Her hand was on her cell phone the moment she entered the elevator. Raziel had been more than forthcoming despite the implications the conversation may later have had on him. The number she connected was on speed dial 1.

"Hello, this is Hunnigan. Connect me to the president."


	32. NoBody

**Vergil**

**Hell**

Hell was, if anything, order within chaos. It was this fine balance that made hell such a lethal dual edged sword to both heaven and earth. Those who were weak were dominated and subjected to servitude, as was the rule of nature. Even humans practiced this primitive methodology of domination. The strong were the ruling class. The weak were the dominated. This was the order of hell. This was also the source of chaos within hell as well. The continued struggle for dominance, the race to gain the upper hand, to become the new dominating class of society, the cycle of power and weakness continually shifted.

However, he had his own ideas regarding the order of hell's chaos. True dominance came with skill. True dominance was undisputable and unfathomable. True dominance was submission without question, as so many had already submitted to _his_ rule. That was the hell _he_ was ruler of and that hell was rapidly dissolving, right before his eyes. The rules to the game were changing. If the rules where to change, than so must he, if he wished to maintain what was rightfully his by birthright.

That being said, Nevan had no new information. None had known of the source of the virus, nor of the perpetrators who had spread the virus to begin with other than the two generals he had eliminated. A viral outbreak double pronged with the agreement he'd made with the humans… It was a muddled mess, all of it.

The creature before him, it had been a Nobody once. Not a great demon, not a smart demon, not even a demon worth the honor of the bottom of his boot. It had been captured in the outlands and was currently chained and muzzled like a beaten dog. It had been captured in the process of tearing apart and consuming a spider demon when he'd come across it. Only by the sheerest of luck-and a great deal of skill-had he managed to capture the Nobody alive. Now the Nobody was his prisoner and toy. Nothing more than a tool he would use to further his control over the spread of this virus.

The Nobody lunged, howling and swiping at the air. The chains about the creature's neck and limbs had chaffed away the skin, leaving behind brackish pussing wounds. He watched the creature, leaning against the wall from where he was seated. The nobody strained against its bonds, it's mouth dripping the same brackish liquid as the wounds. The veining in its eyes held the same black and its pupils had expanded to encompass the entirety of its eye. Even with that, or perhaps because of that, it was unusually focused on a single point. The chains jangled, straining against the force of the Nobody, as it continued to reach forward. Its hackled laughter came in weezing gasps and hoarse barks as spittle fell from its mouth.

Several hours Vergil had sat, observing the Nobody. During the entirety of that time, the Nobody strained to reach him. This kind of single mindedness defied reason. It's clawed hand swiped the air, narrowly missing his shin by hairs. A gentle breeze rustled the folds of his pants.

More and more the Nobody morphed into an unidentifiable creature before his eyes. A Nobody with claws…what other mutations had this…_illness_…incurred? The blow had been aimed at the one knee drawn up, the one his arm rested on. He'd been sitting there in that position for six hours now and the Nobody had been swiping the same space before his shin. It had yet to notice the other lay laying flat on the ground easily within its reach. The chains holding the Nobody groaned.

The creature before him did not seem to acknowledge its wounds. Single minded logic like that, it was basic instinct gone haywire. That kind of instinct, it had its uses for say, cannon fodder perhaps. But the rules of hell still held true. True power and strength came from skill and skill alone. And therefore this illness was useful in creating cannon fodder and only this, so far as he could see.

How clever using biological warfare to decimate his army. The costs of this plaque were climbing higher than anticipated. Who would have thought? A _virus_ such as this killing off the demons of hell. It was a clever move, by all means. Whoever his foe, they would pay in kind for their cleverness. He had suffered a surfeit of others directing his fate in his life. He would not abide another claiming to do so.

"Crod." Easily he rose to his feet, willing Hertz de Stien-the spiked gauntlets-to hand. The soul arms had come from one of the many fallen demons whom had opposed his will and his rule in hell. General Stien. The rumors of Stien's fate were by far a thousand times crueler than the fate he'd actually visited upon Stien. However, Vergil did nothing to discourage them. There was nothing to be gained by doing so. He pushed Stien from his thoughts. Time to test the strength and intelligence of his foe.

"Yes lord?" The crocodile demonling asked, his one good eye focused both on his master as well as the Nobody.

"Release it." The demon regarded him warily before turning his gaze wholly on the mutated demon.

"Lord?" Crod was not a brave demon, nor was he a stupid one. He was perhaps, the longest lived servant Vergil had ever possessed. The demon had failed miserably at assassinating him some time before. Vergil had spared him in exchange that he serve-unquestioningly. _Come to think of it_, _Crod has been here as long as Little Lauren_. He knew Crod went so far as to pride himself on being of use to his master, despite the fact that Vergil would easily kill him without a moment's hesitation if the need arose. Yet, Crod the sickeningly loyal one, balked at approaching that thing. Cool blue flames flickered towards the crocodile demon in a blatant stare of annoyance.

"Must I repeat myself?" his master asked quietly. Crod stilled the shudder trickling down his spine.

"Of course not my lord. It will be as you wish." The demon laid a clawed hand on the turn wheel that held the Nobody's chains. Turning the crank, the chains were loosened. The straining Nobody fell flat on its face, sliding into the wall where Vergil had previously been leaning upon. The Nobody struggled to get to its limbs. By then of course, Vergil was far in the center of the arena, taking easy relaxed strides.

Shaking itself, the Nobody got to its feet, its chains dragging across the dirt ground, rattling like a death whisper. The Nobody turned to face him, eyes completely black. The interlaced veining about the creatures eyes where vivid to the point that the skin of the creature was turning black. The Nobody sniffed the air, taking deep breaths. Vergil stayed still as the Nobody seemingly looked past him. _Interesting… _Easily he fell into an offensive stance_, _hands forming fists.

At his movements, the Nobody became animate. The infected demon lunged, mindlessly with out skill, slobbering jaw bared. Sidestepping, the spiked knuckles of the gauntlet flickered as Vergil back-handed the creature. The Nobody fell onto its back squirming. Juicy coal leaked from a deep gauge in it side. Writhing side to side, legs pawing at the air, the zombified demon flipped onto its stomach.

Growling, it lowered its head, attention pinpointed upon Vergil. Carelessly Vergil flicked off the infection marring his gauntlets. The Nobody's deep snarls filled the air, a deep growl trembling the sands of the arena. Rising the Nobody roared, belting out a pure battle cry as it lunged into the air. Vergil greeted it mid-air, slamming a heel down into the creature's masked face. The mask cracked beneath the blow before tumbling stomach first to the arena floor. It slammed into the ground with the demon king landing upon it heavily. Vergil's foot pined one of the creature's shoulders. Wrapping his hand around the thick extremity, he pulled it backwards until the tough exoskeleton crumbled under his grip and the limb gave off the smell of leaking infectious liquids. It was a rank smell that lingered in one's senses longer than Little Lauren's cigarettes did.

Snarling the Nobody fishtailed, its teeth clamping down on the exterior of Vergil's boot. With a kick, the creature was dislodged, reeling. Stepping back he watched as the creature struggled to rise on the broken limb. Despite the clear uselessness of it, the creature continued to attempt to use it, only to further damage itself in the process. Scrabbling forward, it strained to take a chunk out of Vergil. Reaching down, Vergil grasped the infected demon's chain from the ground, smirking. With a whiplash, the demon was flying through the air. Slamming into the stone side of the arena. Its side crumpled in ward, revealing a cavernous hole. The demon's insides pooled out through the bleach grey knives of its rib cage. Loopy intestines coated the ground as a sickly evergreen black mass. The infected didn't uncurl from its creator in the wall. _Too easy…like taking life from a newborn…_

Disgusted Vergil turned his back on the monstrosity. There was nothing to regain from this virus. There was no way to make use of those who had been infected save as cannon fodder. _What use was this virus? What use could one make of imbecile cretins? No, more importantly, who found these qualities this useful? Who was benefiting from this virus? _

Crod's uttered yelp of surprise drew his attention first. Turning, Vergil took in the demon. Black dripped from its side like a tide pool. Even the blackness of hell paled in comparison to the emptiness the demon demonstrated next. It should have been dead. From the gurgling sounds he heard from within its chest, the demon was clinically dead. No heart beat from within. Not like before it had slammed into the wall. Vergil grit his teeth. This, this was _unnatural_, even in a place like hell, where the borders between life and death were tenuous at best. This was not a golem, not a humuculous. Simply instinct gone haywire in a dead body.

Head cocking to the left, the demon's jagged teeth came down on the limb Vergil had broken. With a tug, the demon freed itself from the crippling effects of the broken limb. Spitting out the severed body part, the Nobody lowered its head, laughing insanely. _Disgusting, revolting garbage. _

The Nobody lunged, faster than it had before. It crossed the distance between the two of them in little more time than it would have taken him. The tell-tale auratic spikes of color were rising from its ink stained body, crackling in the chilled air. A dead demon had devil triggered. How was it possible for something dead to call upon its life source? The demon's jaw clamped down on the metal of his gauntles, the spikes of them driving through the Nobody's mask. Even in death it continued to laugh, growing in size. The obsidian blood continued to gush from its wounds, leaving a trail of thick mashed innards behind it.

Clenching a fist, Vergil drove it towards the demon's side. The demon's spare arm a top its back caught it, even as the creature began to push him backwards. The nobody laughed, crazed, tightening its jaw. The Stien gauntlet cracked, the d hard metal giving under the constant pressure of the zombie's vice like jaws. Turning, Vergil threw the demon, body first, into the ground. The blow didn't weaken its grip on him. Not as it would have had it been a normal demon. Rather the infected monster was still laughing, clinging to him. The spare arm holding his free hand began to pull away, seeking to tear him in two, it would seem.

"You are a thousand years too early," Vergil sneered, "worm." With a definitive blow, his foot crushed the creature's exposed chest, making the neck snap at a forty five degree angle. The zombie-demon went silent then, its mouth going slack. The Nobody fell to the ground, limp. Vergil raised an eyebrow, pulling the gauntlet free from the gaping death trap with a sharp tug. One of the demon's teeth came free with it, embedded in the gauntlet.

The soul arm was cracked, both of them. Vergil could feel his skin bruising and healing beneath the gauntlets. A Nobody did not have that kind of power. A nobody was a lower class demon. _How could it have destroyed a soul arm_? Even fatally wounded, the demon had continued its assault. Unnatural strength in a low functioning demon…that was truly an outrageous combination. The demon had refused to stop attacking until its neck had been broken. Memory came then, unbidden.

'_What did you do to my general Lauren?' he'd held up Berrial's severed head. She'd given him a cat-eyed looking, knowing and smug, but wary all the same. 'He was in the wrong place at the wrong time.' _

Lauren had looked non-plussed, but he'd seen her discomfort. She had made a point of tearing off Berrial's head. Of severing it from the neck. Just as he'd just done with the Nobody. _So they do have a weakness…barring a potential infection, the infected have a weakness. _Just as the second general had died at the human compound. He'd been the one to rend the demon's mind in half. It had been that which had killed the demon and only that. Not the finishing blow coupled with the heavy damage it had sustained, as he had previously thought. No wonder Dante-the fool-had fallen victim to this plaque. A satisfied smirk rose to his mouth. There was one way to further confirm his suspicion…and it was sleeping it off in the human realm.

"Crod."

"Yes my lord," Crod's voice was hushed as the servant took in the damage, both to the arena as well as his master's gauntlets. "Go to those who survived the plague, account for their numbers and return to me." Last check had shown nearly a quarter of hell's population infected. The plaque was reeking havoc on his empire. However, perhaps it was a service as well. Only the truly worthy-the clever and the skilled-would survive. Once a usable cure-a way to make such a specialized army insensible-was developed…._the mere idea of it all…_ The corner of his mouth tilted upwards. The culling of the weak little bothered him. Hell was his to do with as he pleased.

"Lord," Crod bowed stiffly. Shucking off the gauntlets, Vergil turned away from the servant and back to the slain demon. _Time to have that chat with little Lauren. _


	33. The Mugged Woman

All Hands are calling the Maker

Dirty with the Salt from the Undertaker

Damn, I hear John the Revelator

Mama's in the kitchen, Dancing and Singing

Get my money back, pay my bills

Put me baby in the county jail

Do my time Lord and I won't tell

On everybody, everybody going to hell

-Call to the Maker, Aimee Allens

**St. Paul, Minnesota, U.S.A., Highway 94**

Steffon Grier had just gotten that promotion. Today would be his first day in the upper management position and he had left early- four am early-to beat the morning traffic rush. With the added cash flowing into his bank account, he'd be able to propose to Keri all the more quickly. She'd sent him off with a quick kiss and a proud, genuine smile that morning, her eyes still half lidded with sleep. Starbucks mocha in one hand and a finger hooked on the wheel, Steffon reached for the buzzing black berry in his pocket. His eyes should've been on the road, but Keri was calling him. _Probably going to wish me luck_, he thought, a warm pleased smile rising to his lips. By the time Steffon answered the phone and looked up, he reacted by gut.

Uttering a wordless cry Steffon stomped on the brakes, jerking the wheel to the right. With chilled, fresh snow coating the road, traction was nil. Steffon's car slammed into the pylon at an angle, scrapping away the paint job and crushing both the driver side doors after crumpling the front blinker and bumper. The airbag deployed, smattering Steffon's mocha across the car's interior and bashing the panicked driver into his seat. The car ground to a halt, its tail end fishing out into the traffic lane after it finished ricocheted off the concrete road divider.

Outside, crystal diamonds began to fall from the sky. They littered the world, coating it in an easily destroyed coat of purity.

Steffon stirred, groaning. Aside from the liquid burns on his legs and the hard feeling of a seatbelt across his chest, the budding concussion had to be more worrisome for making his vision waver. Between the brown mocha stains and the deflated airbags, Steffon was vaguely surprised to see himself alive at all. Moving slowly, he finally stared out of the cracked windshield. The sight that had served as the impetus of the whole affair was still there. He hadn't imagined it after all. Somewhere in the passenger seat, the black berry was letting him know that keri had left a voicemail.

Empty cars-stalled with hazard lights blinking, engines still running-lay strewn across four lanes of highway. Groaning once again, Steffon reached for his seat belt, somehow it still worked despite the overall condition of the car itself. Climbing shakily over the passenger seat, he wedged the passenger side door open, kicking it. He made sure to take the cell phone with him. Outside it had begun to snow again. The forecast had called for flurries the entire day and the yellow glare of the road light on the overhead pass made the ground glitter with counterfeit diamonds.

The accident had etched out the snow on the road, leaving behind four carved trails of black concrete. Looking at his car, cursing under his breath, Steffon turned. He had suddenly remembered-again-what had caused the accident. Head pounding, the cold air caught in his throat. She still stood there, her back turned to him, in the middle of his what had been his lane of traffic. She hadn't moved, even as his car had narrowly missed her. _Shock,_ he thought mutely, _she had to have been in shock_. _How else could she not move? Crazy maybe? Haffta be crazy to stand in the middle of the street like that…_

Steffon called out to her. She shuffled back and forth, shifting her weight from foot to foot. He could see the back of her shirt, torn open, revealing a deep cuts on her back. Blood matted the tattered edges of her shirt.

"Hey," his quick walk carried him closer to her. "Are you alright? Ma'am? Can you hear me?" _Is she deaf? Shock? Trauma? What's wrong with this woman? _Steffon gently tapped her shoulder. "Ma'am? Are you alright?"

The woman took a rattling breath and slowly turned to face him. Her eyes were a shocking blue color. The sclera around her irises were black and both eyes appeared to be bruised. The slashes in her shirt wrapped around to her front. A naked breast was exposed to the chilled air, the nipple hard, as a nude colored bra strap slipped down one bare shoulder. The woman was middle aged with gray streaks marring her brown hair. Bite marks dotted her shoulders and upper arm. Nervously, Steffon adverted his eyes, searching the woman's vacant gaze and taking in her disheveled appearance. Along with a cut lip, blood leaked from her right ear and had created a long trail down her neck.

"Are you okay?" He demanded, still unsure if it was his shock or her shock speaking. Quickly taking off his jacket he gingerly covered the woman's nakedness. "God, were you mugged? Ma'am? Do you understand what I'm saying? Hang on, I'll call the police." Steffon wrapped his jacket over the woman's frail shoulders, digging in his pants pocket.

Dark blood trickled down the woman's chin as she took another deathly breath. Her gaze followed Steffon, watched his movements with an uncanny awareness that never seemed to focus but definitely followed him all the same. Steffon found the Blackberry, thankful it was in one piece. He punched in the number for emergency services, his gaze traveling beyond his handheld device to the woman and the wreck behind her. _Not a pile up…what kind of accident happened here?_ Uneasiness flitted through his gut. _There's probably more people like her….geezus, how could something like this happen and not a single person report it yet?_

Her legs were bleeding, he noticed for the first time. Heavily. The blood was nearly black in the early morning darkness. It pooled around worn, ankle high snow boots. It almost looked as if someone had torn at her jeans, cutting large holes through the fabric with some kind of sharp object. They had cut her into her skin as well. _What the hell? Was there some kind of brawl after the car accident happened? What do you use to do this to another person?_ _My god, some people are animals! _Steffon fumbled with his cell phone, anger forming in his gut towards the woman's unknown assailants.

"My god," He gaped, stupidly staring at the wounds and shaking his head. _There is no reason for that kind of violence, especially not for bad driving in snowy conditions._ His hand shook as he brought the cell to his ear.

"St. Paul emergency services, what is the nature of your call?" A woman's sterile voice asked, humming in his ear.

"My god," He repeated, staring at the woman. The woman breathed again, her mouth opening and a dark black tongue pushed forward, discharging black blood down her chin. The black spittle flaked onto her clothing, smattering the pink sweater top before joining the growing puddle around her heels.

"Sir, please state the nature of your emergency."

The woman took a stumbling step towards Steffon, her arms rising as if to embrace him. Her fingers were grasping, quivering in the air. Taking an involuntary step back, Steffon hesitated. A sudden discomfort uprooted his anger towards the woman's unseen assailant. _What is wrong with this woman? _She didn't have any tell tale bruising on her jaw that would indicate such heavy bleeding from the mouth, despite the cut.

"Sir if you do not respond we will send a police squad to your location."

"Ye-yes, there's been a, a car accident and a possible mugging," Steffon stammered into the cell phone, taking another step away from the woman. She followed him, slowly stumbling with her scratched up legs and torn pink sweater. He wobbled, back stepping on the slick road. Faster the woman followed him, her hands latching onto his shirt with surprising strength.

"Sir, Emergency services will be sent out immediately. If you are currently in a safe location, then I would like that you please tell me your location," The authoritative woman's voice demanded. The mugged woman pulled herself closer to Steffon, her face inches from his.

Uttering a cry, Steffon dropped the phone, surprised. The woman's mouth opened and she lunged. Steffon was a fly caught by a pitcher plant, struggling in a pit of liquid suffering. He begged, screaming, but the woman didn't bother responding to his cries. Her kisser was unnaturally like that of a lover as it descended upon his own open mouth. For a brief moment, Keri flitted into his mind's eye and how she looked whenever she leaned in for a quick peck. Blood filled Steffon's throat as the woman pulled them closer together, her arms wrapping around him. Steffon's jacket slid from her shoulders, dropping to the ground. The woman's weight fell into him, toppling them both to the wet ground.

Steffon screamed and screamed and screamed, but the mugged woman in pink didn't hear him. She continued, with the relish of a starved person, to eat.

On the overhead pass above, Kain waited in the faint growing light of the morning. His skin was beginning to itch uncomfortably. It was dangerous to be out and about this late in the night. The lovers below were quick in their endeavors, the woman finishing the man faster than her last prey. As with the ones from before, he could feel her jaw working as she ate. Could hear the dull wordless thoughts of hunger, fueling her actions. Just as he felt the hunger of all of his creations. His little slave army had far fewer thoughts than he had anticipated. Sluggishly, the woman rose and with her the man as well, reborn now from the blackness of death.

Kain could feel the ebb and flow of the new link he'd formed with his slave as it joined the mental tethers of the others. Behind him, his slaves waited, gnashing their teeth in silent anticipation. There were fifteen of them now. Although the original slave had perished, it didn't matter. At this rate it would only be a matter of days before his army would be great enough…

"The sun rises," Mynce said quietly, her eyes fixated on the two below them. She was the only servant he had that still had the brains enough to think for herself. Wordlessly, he turned, allowing her to follow him. She was right, the sun was rising. Tomorrow night, they would make more of them. A dull pain was working its way into his forehead. _Acursed sun! _Tomorrow night, the real fun would begin. Just a few more and then he'd be ready. _Oh Raziel, my old friend, how fate twists in the wind without you to guide it… _


	34. Speechworthy

Happy Easter Weekend! (for those of you who partake of the holiday) For the rest of us who don't, happy update sunday! :D And speaking of Easter on a slightly inappropriate note...if you're into zombies and the like, shirtwoot is having super zombie tshirt deals as of late. Hence...get there and get yourself some ironic pre-zompocolypse threads. You know...since...most of us wouldn't survive a zombie outbreak anyways...what's more ironic than being chased by a zombie wearing a zombie themed tshirt? (Or more in the Easter spirit than a zombie for that matter? Please, don't brick me. D: )

* * *

**President Kyle Link**

**Presidential Address-Aired Live**

I come to this house of worship tonight, because my conscience calls me to it. This business of the desecration of our loved one-of the lives of our children and that of our fathers and mothers-lay revealed so that all may see. The eve of our disbelief can only be matched by the tragedy of devastation we have suffered. This business of manmade hell rises as an affront to our moral compass, as an affront to our creeds-be they as varied as the stars in the sky. There has never been a descent into the unknown as the crises we currently find ourselves in. So many lives have been whisked away, like candles in the wind, the truth must be told.

The truth must be told.

Should our great nation succumb to the degradation and violation of the natural laws of order, we will be lost in an ever-consuming darkness. It is in our time of greatest need that we reach out to our neighbors, and in turn seek to support others. For the first time in the history of our species, we are forced to reconsider our perceptions. We are forced to view ourselves not as the ruling class of our world, but as the lowest class. A separated, albeit united class. A class not dictated by our religious belief, nor by our race. We are a class united under the flag of humanity.

When our strength becomes our weakness, we must depend upon others to deliver us from this uncertain time. We must depend upon our unknown neighbors, our kin, for their support. It is this _other kin_ who would seek to place the human species once again in a state of grace. To stop this madness overwhelming our world. We must offer up our reverence and our respect, to those who would do what we cannot. Our brothers, our sisters, our husbands, sons, daughters, and wives go forth to battle the evil that has fallen upon us. We are one in our arms race against this unholy monstrosity that pillages our nation.

When we ask for peace, we are often answered with chaos. When we seek solace, we are given grief. Let us now ask for a continuance of this viral plaque, so that the ends may justify the means. Let us hope now for a decisive victory over the chaos we have created with our own hands. Let us curse god for his simplicity in our creation, and praise him likewise for the grace and the foresight of the creation of our everlasting and perhaps only redeeming grace: hope. Yes, our hope. Let it sustain us. Let it nourish us, so that some day, not long from now, we may envision ourselves in a kinder world. A world of tolerance and of peace, where our kith laid to rest do so remain. It is in harsh times of trial that our true character is revealed. Let our character be one worthy of remembering. Worthy, of saving.

Those of you watching tonight, those of you who have gathered here with me, let us pray. For those who have fallen, for those we would willingly sacrifice for our own safety, for those who-even now-huddle in fear and desperation, for those who have lost loved ones. Our great nation, regardless of your creed, of your race and gender, let us all now take a moment of silence. Let us honor those hundreds of thousands that have perished in the name of our way ward science. Let us pray for a swift end to the unnaturalness that surrounds us. Let us remember, my friends, once again, what the high cost of being human truly is.

**Vergil**

_Eloquent words for a man with so little at stake_. He had returned to the human world with no one the wiser that he had ever left. Lauren continued to sleep, curled up under the sheets. He sat beside her on the bed, watching as the leader of the monkeys revealed the existence of demons to the world, no matter how indirectly. The humans thought themselves in a crisis. Three viral outbreaks in as many weeks, and these fools were diapering themselves. Hell was eating itself alive and these fools thought they were in trouble with a contained plaque. The president's voice was a quiet buzz in the room, though loud enough for Vergil to discern some one in live the audience blowing their nose.

_Interesting political move._ Roughly two hours ago a new viral epidemic had spread in a highly populated human city. The news of the plaque was plastered on every available media network the humans had. There was no demon involved in this viral outbreak, so far as he could discern. _A virus that can jump species. It truly is a plaque of epidemic proportions. _ The screen before him showed scene after scene of infected humans falling upon their own, tearing flesh from limb and bone. _Did infected humans act the same as infected demons? Were they stronger because of their base instincts? It would be something worth knowing_… This new mini-outbreak would mean something to the humans here at this compound. It would mean something more to Lauren, although what that was he couldn't yet say. For himself, it would mean the opportunity of hacking apart mindless human drones.

A hand tightened its grip on his pant leg, drawing his attention. Lauren continued to sleep, curling up against his leg. The damn woman was a heat magnet when she slept, that at least hadn't changed. Not in the ten years they'd been apart. Her forehead pressed against his thigh. Briefly he closed his eyes, sighing.

… … … She was waking now. Her breathing had changed slightly. As had her heartbeat. There would be hell to pay. Even if he had been right about her physical condition, she would rather stubbornly insist she was 'fine' than admit as much. The damn woman would listen to a complete stranger rather than him. Lauren truly was a creature of spite.

The door to the room slid open and the woman from before, Hunnigan, entered. She took in the sight of him and Lauren with out pause. At least not an obvious one. Emotional training in humans was always interesting to watch. To a trained eye she gave nothing away. To a supernatural trained eye, she was surprised and irritated, her curiosity more than piqued. He had little reason to entertain any of her suspicions however. He owed her nothing. The woman pursed her lips.

"How long has she been sleeping?" she asked in a hushed voice. He studied the woman. Her red rimmed glasses and high heels were the only articles of clothing she wore that indicated a personality. No perfume to speak of, although she did wear make up. The woman shifted her weight, her expression making it clear as day that she knew what he was about and that it wasn't appreciated. It would seem his chat with Lauren would have to wait. No matter. Time was on his side. It always was.

"….," he didn't bother replying, his gaze traveling to Lauren. With a hand he flicked his thumb against her ear lobe. His nail made the metal hoops their chime quietly. Lauren's eyes snapped open, her gaze pinpointing him. Those yellow eyes were sharp enough to cut. She used to never be a quick riser, but now she was awake with little more than a brief disturbance. Something to keep in mind. "Get up, you have a visitor," he told her. Taking a breath she rolled away from him, sitting up. The bed sheets fell away, bunching at her lap. She left a good two-foot distance between them, never glancing in his direction. Her back was poker strait. Little Lauren was irritated. He felt a smirk on his mouth.

"I'm glad to see you've been resting," the woman told Lauren.

"Hunnigan," Lauren's voice was hoarse from sleep. She scratched her neck. "What's going on?" Hunnigan glanced at the muted television before returning her gaze to Lauren.

"There's a situation I'd like to speak to the two of you about," She began, crossing her arms. "You may or may not like it, however we're running out of options and I thought you might enjoy an opportunity to stretch your legs."


	35. Mysterious Lady and the Detective

**Detective Grant**

He stumbled, his bad knee giving a little. Hand scrapping against rough concrete, Grant managed to get his balance back, just shy of drenching himself in the dirty condensation collecting on the floor of the utility tunnel. It was dark. The power had gone out a while ago. The noises of chaos couldn't be heard from overhead, thankfully. It had been pandemonium when he'd managed to slip underground. Although it went against his nature to abandon others in such obvious need, the kid always had known how to weave an interesting yarn. He'd told Lauren he would continue with the investigation. Who could have guessed that it would have led him here?

His contacts in Brams County had delivered on their promises. The files they'd sent had been interesting. At first glance the Wish House foundation was nothing more than that; benefactors of the unfortunate and the unwanted, a home for orphans and nothing more. However a quick review of their tax records suggested otherwise. Thirty years ago, the highest paid staff member was, ironically, deceased. The second highest paid staff member was a doctor who had his license revoked fifteen years prior to the opening of Wish House.

It begged to question how a dead person could have a bank account in the near millions-or how a clearly unqualified doctor managed to evade frequent state inspections. Yet money had been transferred in and out of the account. The account itself had been shut down days prior to the federal government raid of the orphanage, regarding suspected unethical treatment of children. It wasn't long before the orphans were removed to loving homes and those few caregivers who were caught to be tried and put in jail.

It was interesting to note however, that with the kind of money flowing in to the orphanage and so little of it going out in wages, that nothing more than child abuse had been suspect. The kid had known all this though, she'd been the one to get half the information in the first place. She was dead set that there was something more to Wish House and its occult crack-pot religion. That something somehow tied into her theories of a pending viral epidemic. He'd initially scoffed at the idea, however given what he'd seen…He had put a hold on the skepticism for the moment.

His contact in the beau-an old army buddy-had gotten him a dusty list of the children placed in protective services after the disbanding of Wish House. He'd spent the last few weeks tracking down each and every one of them. The list of surviving children had been surprisingly short. Out of the fifty names of those who had gone into protective services, only a rare fifteen had survived to adulthood. Out of the fifteen, roughly five of them had been committed to various mental facilities across the nation. Of the remaining ten, seven had changed their names-more than once in three different cases. Those three he had been able to track down by original name refused to speak with him or even return his phone calls.

The hitches in the investigation only further solidified the kid's claims…at least in some regards. No matter, when the living refused to talk, the dead were always more than willing to tell a tale or two. So rather than pursuing the living, Grant had stopped by the Bram County's Records Department.

Looking at the death records of the original fifty orphans a peculiar trend began to emerge. Many of the orphans had reached puberty, yet several years after that, health complications would arise. Most of the time the symptoms were described as trance like in the early stages, but quickly evolved into a fatal coma. In some cases, the orphans would demonstrate early stages of Alzheimer's disease. In particular a doctor had noted in an autopsy report of an unknown agent that somehow activated during the hormonal change of puberty. It was discovered during the analysis of blood work. Grant had put in a call to the doctor but had yet to hear anything back. At this point, with so many dead ends to overcome, he wasn't holding his breath.

The medical files coupled with the paid deceased staff member had more than enough red flags flying high. Unsatisfied, Grant dug more. What was the purpose of experimenting on orphans? What were those experiments attempting to discover? Wish House board director, Joseph Kain, had never turned up for the disbanding of his orphanage. There was still an APB out for his arrest. However, land titles indicated Kain had owned land in various parts of the world and nation. His family tree was wide-spread it would seem, yet the only other plot of land to receive as much attention as Wish House had was currently in the middle of a biohazard outbreak. Perhaps not so surprising considering the Wish House orphans had undergone what appeared to be-for all intents and purposes-genetic experimentation. Was Joseph Kain his missing link?

Was it another coincidence that such obvious details in the original Wish House case had been overlooked? First the deceased staff member with a bank account in the millions. Now land rights to Joseph Kain, seemingly untouched by the Federal investigation headed by the Wish House case. The inspector in charge should have had easy access to all of Joseph Kain's personal files, let alone his financial assets. Such a major detail and it had been overlooked…or willfully ignored. As unpleasant as the idea was, it was one Grant couldn't rule out. Joseph Kain was a millionaire on paper, he could have made an arrangement with inspector at the time.

Of all his assets, the land with the most recent monetary activity was, ironically, the home to a publicly owned bank. However Mr. Kain still owned the land rights, right in the middle of downtown Twin Cities. After traveling so far, even with the unmentionable occurring overhead, it was time for a bit of old fashioned foot work. At first glance the bank seemed clean but a simple check of the company's billing records indicated an obscene amount of electricity consumption. There were solar panels atop the building to help offset both the regular expenses as well as taxes, however they only made a considerable dent in the electricity consumption. There was something beneath-or within-the building. There had to be. Most of the illegal activities Wish House had conducted upon the children had been in windowless rooms, occasionally underground. Whatever Mr. Kain was about, he didn't like others seeing it.

The only real flaw with his theory at this point would be the fact that Mr. Joseph Kain himself would be in his early 90's. Who lived that long? Grant himself was already well into his 60's and he already felt as if his body were falling to pieces around him.

Still, following that line of reason was how Grant wound up slocking through dirty service tunnels. In fact he had been slocking for the better part of two hours now. The tunnel he was in should have run into a dead end after fifty feet, yet hundreds of feet later it continued on, uninterrupted. Small flashlight in hand Grant had continued his careful decent. He walked for another thirty minutes before coming to the end of the tunnel. Before him a vault door-similar to something you'd find in a World War Two submarine-lay sealed. Upon checking it, he discovered that it was unlocked.

The door was well oiled when he opened it. A well-maintained door meant someone had used it recently. Slowly Grant lowered himself into a black expanse. With a steady awareness of the pistol at his belt, he braced himself. It was time to see what Mr. Kain was hiding beneath his bank.

**BloodRayne**

For the first time in a long time she was aware of a dim light. Her tongue was a swollen lump, with slowly healing scars along its edges. Rayne hissed quietly to herself. The skin at her wrists were much like the flesh of her tongue. In places the flesh was peeled back, revealing raw still healing wounds. In other places twisted, gnarled scars marred her otherwise perfect skin.

The light came closer, bobbing and swaying back and forth.

"Hello?" a horse voice called out. Rayne bit into her gag, the ropes at her wrists refusing to give even now. The light kept coming closer…and with it the salty incandescent smell of blood. Her mouth began to water, spit dribbling down her chin.

Then the light, the curious non-lethal cousin of the sun, nearly blinded her. Gagging on a hiss, Rayne yanked her face away, pupils dilating at a near painful rate.

"My god! Can you hear me?" The light quickly flickered to the ground. Cautiously, Rayne turned her weakened gaze back towards the light source. The smell of sweat filled her nose. It was a man…a delicious, delectable human man. His heart thudded somewhat hesitantly in his chest. His pulse sounded like a deep techno bass.

"I'm Grant, a detective. I'm here to help you, Miss." The man bent down slowly, his age showing in his movements. "I won't hurt you." Rayne growled, her eyes watching his every movement. He was slow, but patient, and the binding at her ankles fell away.

"I'm investing a Mr. Joseph Kain," the detective said. His words echoed through her mind, jumbling and running together, none of it making any sense. The one word though. That one made sense. _Kain_. Just the sound of the word made her salivate. _Kain_ was going to die when she next found him. Carefully he pulled the gag from her mouth, mopping her chin with a white hankie from his pocket.

"Release me." Her voice held no Influence in it, not the kind she normally had over men when she talked. She was weakened, enraged, and hungry. Her voice sounded rough, too ancient to belong to her.

"Hold still now," The detective said, as if he had never heard her. She could feel his pulse through the fingertips that brushed against her sore wrists. The mere feel of the warmth of his skin made her excited. Then she was free, falling into the man with the practice only a street walker could possess. Her arms hung uselessly over his shoulders, sore. The Detective stepped back a pace, trying to compensate for her unexpected weight.

"Miss? It'll be alright," The man was babbling, making those incoherent animal sounds that only meat made. Rayne swallowed hard, her breath coming in pants. Delicately a hand brushed the collar of his jacket. Baring her teeth, she did what was only natural.

Whatever the man did after that, she didn't hear it. Couldn't hear it. Didn't care. All she could smell was the sticky salty tang of metal red. The deep taste of coppery iron and the warmth of it as it gushed down her throat. The powerful beat of the man's heart pumped his life source into her mouth, as if pushing a drug towards a recovering addict. This kind of relapse was fine though. Kneeling on the floor now, Rayne held the wilting man up by his coat collar. Realizing only then that the man beneath her had fallen silent and the only sounds she heard were her own strange and desperate keening whimpers as she drank his life away.


	36. Mission Start

**Lor**

I pulled on my pants. They'd given me a small locker room to change in, along with some goodies they thought I would find useful. Hunnigan had been brief and to the point, there were zombies in a major U.S. city now. She wanted me to go in and find out what I could. In smart person talk, she wanted to see exactly what my abilities were in extreme conditions. She wanted particulars on the training I had undergone and what it would take exactly, to shut me down if I went off the reservation. Well, that and she wanted the outbreak to be contained. She was a clever woman, but even I could see through this.

The pants were army camo pants, or whatever uniform the military used. The black Kevlar shirt-still in development according to Hunnigan-was skin tight. It was tough material though. I hadn't been able to rip it when I tried. Maybe I had hit a cord somewhere with those war staff goons. I'm surprised they were able to find a pair in my size. Ignoring the fact that I woke up snuggled against Vergil, I think today might be looking up. _Fucking Vergil. God that Half demon prick needs a reality check_. _I wake up like that again and I'll see to it his eyes close, permanently._ I cracked my neck as I slung on the Rudra and Agni.

"Hey boys, miss me?" I asked them, buckling the leather holster strap at my shoulder. My swords had been 'confiscated' when they found me outside of Hope. They'd probably run tests on the two swords.

"Mistress," Agni and Rudra greeted me. I tightened the secondary sword strap, just below my bust. The primary strap was already tightened, running across my chest from my right side to my left shoulder. It was hard to tighten that strap without killing my boobs. _Stupid male strap design. _

"Mistress, do we go to play?" Agni asked, his voice all smiles.

"Of course we do, fool," Rudra snapped. He was huffy when he spoke next. "Mistress, the humans were studying us in your absence." I'm not sure I liked the direction that kind of 'scientific investigation' was heading, but it confirmed what I already suspected. Angi shuddered, the length of his body vibrating slightly at my back.

"They stuck things were no sword should have to-" _Oh god, spare me._

"Did you talk?" I asked Agni absent-mindedly, interrupting him. I pulled on black boots and began to lace them. They weren't the knee high bad boys I was used to wearing, but they would work. They were solid ankle biters with reinforcement at the arches and extra cushion for the soles.

"We are no traitor to you mistress," Rudra replied stoutly. "We followed your order of silence to the letter."

"It was so uncomfortable," Agni shook again, his voice weepy. "They put a long thing in my mouth and-" _Eh?_ _How exactly does something like that work?_

"Are you damaged?" I asked Agni. He was quiet for a moment, considering.

"No mistress."

"Are you still reliable?"

"Of course! I remained silent Mistress! I live to serve you," Agni said proudly. Then his voice turned weepy again. "Mistress I missed you!" If he wasn't like a little kitty some one abandon I think I might have chucked Agni into a swamp after encasing him in concrete. Still, they were pretty good company once they got over the 'I'm no longer in Dante's basement collecting mold' phase.

"I missed you too," I sighed. "Here, I got you guys a present." I reached into the pocket of my discarded clothes. "There was only strawberry and grape."

"Bubblegum!" A small gust of wind trickled across my neck and shoulders, sending my hair skyward for a moment. Gooseflesh broke out across my skin.

"Knock it off," I said roughly, as I put a pinch of the gum in his mouth. Agni quieted his aura. Who would have known demon swords were so fond of bubble gum? "And no bubbles. I don't want gum in my hair, got it?" Chewing his cud, Angi winked.

"Grape, Rudra?" I asked.

"Yes Mistress," Rudra said. He gave an appreciative grin as I popped some in his mouth.

"Okay, no bubbles and no talking. I don't want to any one to get suspicious, kay?" Rudra and Agni's auras flared for a moment. Silent speak for 'yes'. That or a warning of something sneaking up at my back. For whatever reason, this little zombie killing foray was going to be filmed. I didn't want Agni and Rudra confiscated because some government lackwit found something on film they shouldn't have. _Rudra and Agni belong to me dammit, I'm not letting them go again. _"Alright boys, let's rock."

**Fifteen minutes later…**

"You'll be dropped near the Mall of America," Hunnigan spoke as we made our way to the transport. "Its your job to secure any uninfected citizens and direct them to the nearest medical center." Hunnigan handed me a small cell phone, with a huge screen. "Use the GPS function to help you. There are over ten different hospitals-both major and minor-within the cities. There are hundreds more minor medical facilities. Most remaining military and police forces have locked down any larger medical center. Its not your responsibility to ensure the arrival of citizens to the facilities, you merely need to report their location. Extraction teams will take care of them. I would suggest that any survivors you meet remain were they are, provided their location is secure. The last thing we need is for Joe America to wander the streets and become another infectee. Search and rescue teams will be mobilizing once you've swept an area. We'll be monitoring civilian progress through satellite and assist them in any way possible. Move as effectively and quickly as you can. You'll be working with a team of six other elite operatives. You'll have four hours to scout out and take care of any remaining citizens before meeting up at the nearest medical facility for extraction." Hunnigan handed me a watch. "It'll sound when the time limit has been reached."

"Lemme guess, you guys are going to burn that place," I say, wrapping the watch around my wrist.

"Sanitization will begin once extraction has been completed," Hunnigan agreed in a neutral voice.

"Right." _And I thought Vergil was cold._

"Vergil will be your team partner," Hunnigan said as we stalked down the hallway. Ahead of us the hanger to the transport bay loomed. "I don't want to hinder you, but keep yourselves in check. We don't need potential survivors dying due to a lack of control on your behalf."

"Lack of control?" I asked, glancing over to Hunnigan.

"Are you always this articulate when making unjustified implications?" Vergil's voice broke into the conversation. I jumped, turning to see Vergil at my side, silent as a shadow. I gave him a dirty look for good measure. _Bastard._

"Only when innocent people pay the ultimate price for being in the wrong place at the wrong time," Hunnigan retorted, not pausing.

" 'Innocent'?" Vergil began, his voice thick with disdain. "You consider-"

"And thank you for your help," I cut Vergil off, throwing him a darker murderous look. _ The first glare wasn't hint enough? _"_Lancelot_ and I don't make any promises but I'll keep what you said in mind."

"Understood," Hunnigan said, both of us silently agreeing to gloss over Vergil's ego moment. We came to a halt. The doors before us led to the transport bay. "Remember your only have a four hour window. You'll be briefed further during the transport. I'll be serving here as your support, should you need it." I nodded, finally finishing with the watchstrap. "Take care, good luck."

"Yup," I said pushing my way through the door. Vergil shot Hunnigan a sharp look, a smirk on his mouth. He followed me with easy stride as we made our way through the transport bay. "You're a real prick," I hissed, turning to him once we were out of earshot, "Quit mind fucking Hunnigan. She's a good person."

" A good person," Vergil repeated, tasting the unfamiliar concept of words. He fell into pace next to me, his hands jammed into his pockets. He was lucky enough to still be wearing his own clothing. Though he had no weapons to speak of. "She'll use you as she sees fit before she discards you like a used toy."

"Guess you and her have something in common then." I snapped back.

"Lauren when I use a toy, it becomes mine."

"Is that so?" I growled. "And what happens when you're done with the toy?"

"What's mine is mine." Vergil gave me a maneating smirk. "Even in its broken."

"Possessive much?" _Fuckin' greedy bastard_. I tried not to think too much of how that conversation applied to me as one of his 'used toys'. "You know, some day a woman is going to eat you alive Vergil." At that a low rumbled of laughter came from his throat.

"Are you vying for that position Lauren?"

"In your fucking dreams." Vergil only continued to laugh. "Yuk it up Lancelot," I growled. "It may not be me, but someone will drag you to your knees." _God I hope that's me_. "One way or another I look forward to the day you grovel on the ground eating your pride." Vergil's hand flicked out, yanking me off my feet. He held the front of my shirt. His ice eyes were genuinely entertained when he spoke next.

"Likewise, little Lauren. I'll look forward to that day when your strength surpasses mine. Should my favorite toy win her freedom, I would kneel before you on my knees willingly."

"I am _not_ your toy," I said quietly.

"Continue to hold to your delusions," Vergil released me, returning to his ice cold self. "They're entertaining. You will never be free from yourself any more than you will of your fate Lauren." _Spoken like one who's tried and failed_. I held my silence, glowering at Vergil. "Whatever did you do with that gem?" Vergil asked after a moment, as if it were a stray thought that had just crossed his mind. I blinked. _Gem?_ "The Amerhurst," Vergil prodded me after I didn't reply. I remembered, the yellow gem set in a celtic knot, strung on a fine silver chain.

"I threw it away," I said flatly. Vergil shrugged, turning away. He continued towards our transport, unperturbed.

"Whatever you say Lauren."


	37. Team Elite

Better late than never, eh? Some of the chappies were being a pain in the rear. Anyways enjoy!

* * *

**Lor**

The air was frozen, and flowed over my skin as if hell bent on making an ice mask on it. The door to the back of the small military plane was wide open displaying the dying city beneath us. I held on to the overhang bar, feeling air streams rushing past my legs. My breath frosted into white clouds when I had enough in my lungs to breath. God, how had it gotten so cold so quickly? What had happened to Autumn?

"We're dropping you here," Leon said, yelling over the noise of the plane and rushing air. Even then I could hardly hear him.

"What?" I yelled back, looking between Leon and at the massive expanse of the roof below us.

"Use your communicator," Chris's dry voice broke in over the noise, dropping right into the center of my left ear.

"We're dropping you here," Leon repeated, his voice now crackling over the ear bud. The bud felt like a wet cotton wad had been shoved in my ear, but at least I could make out what they were saying.

"The Mall of America?" I asked. "Seriously?" _Never been here before._

"We got several reports of survivors holed up at some the stores. Hunnigan has the last known locations plugged into your cell if you need a reference. Remember to tag the location of survivors you find on your GPS for extraction. Make sure they are secure before you move on," Leon said.

"Yeah I got all that the first time," I retorted. "How exactly do you expect me to get down there?" Leon looked over to me. Below, some zombies had somehow made their way onto the rooftop, and were slowly lurching their way towards the helicopter. The sound was drawing a lot of them. " Wait, oh hell no," I said catching his look.

"You did it in Hope," Leon replied flatly.

"That was then, this is now! We're like five stories up! Look, I don't really-" I felt a hand at my back. _Oh crap_…. "Vergil!" I shouted in warning, turning to face him. _Too late_. I was plunging backwards and then head first towards the roof of the mall of America. "Vergil you dick!" I shouted over the intercom. Over the whistling rush of wind I could hear his low rumbled of laughter underlying the slightly panicked chatter of Jill and Sheva.

Flipping through the air, I landed, crashing into a pudgy zombie. The big guy fell onto his back in a foot tall snow drift, his ribs snapping on impact as gravity dug my boot bottoms in hard. He chest crumpled inwards. His head was already cocked at an awkward angle but the force of my blow made an inky black fountain spew out from a massive bite wound on his neck. The resulting blood spatter looked like a Rorschach design. The pancaked dead head didn't move, but I still was. Lunging forward I tried to save my ankles from the breaking-sprained-bone-splinter feeling they would receive in the next mili-second or so. I rolled twice, wearing out the momentum of the plunge with my body before rising to my feet. After that I hit it the roof with everything I had.

Agni was unleashed first, hacking apart a lunging emo teen biter in a decapitating blow. Reeling, I let Rudra fly as another wayward shopper with blood soaking the front of his yellow hoodie staggered towards me. Rudra snapped to attention, the length of him becoming embedded completely in yellow hoodie's forehead. Hoodie flopped backwards, not even twitching.

Whirling, I took out the next nearest lurcher, lashing out with a foot. The thirty something oriental looking man probably would've put up a decent fight-had he still been human. As an infected, he went down pretty easy as my heel shattered his spinal column. Neck bulging at a weird angle, black seeping under his skin with internal bleeding, the thirty something crashed to the ground soundlessly. I resheathed Agni, taking a breath to cool the burning adrenalin in my veins. _Four zombies serial killed and I haven't even found the front door to this place yet_.

More zeds were coming, the plane was drawing them in like crazy. With its sound and searchlight, they were practically serving me up on a platter. Ignoring my sore ankles I crossed my kill zone and retrieved Rudra. There had to be at least thirty or forty undead on the roof. Geh…there was probably hundreds more inside the mall.

"Why the hell did you do that?" Chris's voice demanded, crackling over the ear bud. "How the _hell_ did she do that? How did she survive you throwing her out of the transport?"

"_Vergil_, get your ass down here so I can kick it!" I snapped over the communicator, not bothering to answer Chris's question. In response Vergil landed heavily not more than three paces away. He was at my back. Not exactly where I want him to be. "You jackass," I snapped, turning to him. "What the hell was that for?"

"Ladies first, Lauren," Vergil retorted. I flipped him the bird.

"I thought it was age before beauty," I retorted, taking a moment to flop onto my butt. I readjusted my army issued boots, wiggling my toes into being as I relaced them. My ankles were sore, but the pain was quickly fading away, thank my lucky stars. The snow I'd gotten down the back of my shirt, that was actually more unpleasant the dull thud of my ankles.

"There are those who would debate your role in that."

"And they can kiss my ass," I snapped. "You know, if you pushed anyone else they would have been zombie food."

"But it wasn't anyone else," Vergil replied. He gave me an appraising glance with those sharp blue eyes of his. "You did well Lauren." In one hand he began to collect his aura, pulling something into existence judging by the feel of it.

"Fuck you," I growled. There was no way in hell Vergil was complimenting me. "Next time you use me as cannon fodder, you'll be eating my fists." I got to my feet, glaring at him. Vergil spared me a quick flitting glance before returning his attention to the gather darkness in his hand. A small wave of flames erupted into Vergil's open right palm. As he grasped it, the flame elongated stretching into the form of an oversized broadsword. The sword itself materialized, obviously a soul arm of some poor sap Vergil murdered. Still it was a breathtaking beauty of a weapon. It was an old sword, that much was obvious.

Vergil held the weapon out for observation when he caught my hard stare. Stepping up, I drooled over the sword, never touching it. It was a pretty blade, aligned with the element of fire. Red detail work ran up the blade's length, beginning in the pommel and hilt of the sword. The metal of it shone to a mirror gloss. _Vergil always did take excellent care of his knives_. The long edges running both sides of the blade had a notch in the middle of it. The notch was a point that not only sliced but could act as a mini-serrated edge if necessary. It was a _very_ old sword by the look and feel it gave off. The only other blades that I had seen that were as worn and well made-and as well cared for-as this sword were Yamoto and Dante's hell blade of doomage, the Sparda Sword.

"It's called Enryuu," Vergil offered, drawing back the blade, "and before you ask, it belonged to a half demon."

"What?" I asked, surprised. There are other half-demon's other than the Sparda twin? Vergil gave me a feline grin, obviously reading the surprise in my face. He read my mind next, as he seemed to do from time to time, answering my questions before I ever voiced them.

"He was long dead before the sword came into my possession," Vergil turned away. "Shall we?" Rolling my eyes, I followed him. Sure the other half demon guy was dead before Vergil owned the sword, they usually were when he got done with them. Overhead it sounded like Chris was having a mid-life crisis.

"_Him too_?" Chris was demanding over the communicator. He started babbling after a few moments. "Who-no, _what_ the hell are they? Where did that sword-that is a sword right-where the hell did it come from? Between that long haired woman and those two down there-"

"Remember, you guys have four hours to get your section taken care of before we sanitize the city," Leon interrupted Chris.

"Yeah, I hear you," I replied, falling into an offensive stance. The zombies were circling Vergil and I like vultures. I wondered where the necro master was…what were the odds we'd even find it in this city? Either way, it was time to kill make some heads roll.

"Don't forget, get to the extraction point on time," Leon said, "They'll proceed with sanitization with or without you."

"You sound like my mom," I snapped. "_Shut up_. I'm kinda busy killing zombies."

"Nice," Jill said dryly over the line.

"Bite me," I snapped, "Unless you can survive a five story drop sweat heart."

"Focus," Vergil growled, falling into a combative stance. He was at my back again, taking up the empty space there. Back to back we were ready to take on the world. Another feeling of déjà vu swept over my stomach, just as it had back in Hope. I did my best to ignore it, but the thoughts still creeped in through the back door. Vergil was liquid poetry with any number of weapons he could get his hands on...was there anyway I could ever be a match for him? Is there any way in this lifetime or the next I could drag him and his pride down onto his knees? I want to make Vergil feel as miserable as I did, to let him down so purposefully as he had me ten years ago. _How do I do that? How do you hurt someone who doesn't feel? Who doesn't care about anyone or anything?_ _I want revenge and I'll have it, by the pound of flesh and blood, or I'll die trying. He __**will**__ be held accountable for what he did_. _I'm not strong enough yet, but today should give me more than a few opportunities to size up where I stand in the scheme of things. _

"Right. Try not to kill each other. Leon out." Leon's voice drew me back into the game. The helicopter wheeled, turning away, taking its noise and light with it. Some of the lurchers followed the sound of the noise. Too many of them were still making their way towards Vergil and I though.

"I thought they'd never leave," I commented. Wordlessly Vergil gave me a minute glance, snaking it over his shoulder. "Wanna make a bet?" I asked. Vergil paused, half turning to me, offering the zombies an unimpressed, stoic look.

"A bet?"

"Kill count," I said. "The one with the highest score gets something."

"That's a vague wager," Vergil replied. "You know the nature of deals in hell. What you get for nothing-"

" 'Is nothing'," I finished for him, "Yeah but that's the beauty of it Lancelot. We're not in hell." I ignored the lurchers around us as well. They had at least fifteen feet of staggering to do yet. "You game?" The tip of Enryuu nearly brushed the snowdrift next to Vergil's boot. He considered for a moment, toying with the sword in his hand, tightening and untightening his grip on the pommel. Enryuu's blade tip danced up and down. The sword began to melt the snow as it came into contact with it.

"The winner 'gets something'?" Vergil repeated, tilting his head to the side. The corner of his mouth tilted upwards. The half grin was the closest Vergil ever got to an honest smile.

"Only _one_ something and it has to be something the loser can give," I said. "No asking for the moon, the stars, or the other wide variety of nefarious BS your little devious mind wants torture me with. It's a _friendly_ wager, m'kay?" Vergil chuckled.

"Why do you set yourself up for failure? Why is it that you love pain so much?" He raised an eyebrow. "Are you a masochist?" _Seriously? He pegs me as the masochist?_

"Oh I dunno Vergil. Why are you a prick on a daily basis?" I asked back. "Why am I ass deep in a snow bank killing zombies? Why did I just get pushed out of the vagina of a plane?" I shrugged, throwing my hands upwards. "Because it is what it is, Lancelot. Just something to pass the time." I paused, crossing my arms for warmth. "Besides, you like a challenge." Wincing, I reacted to a sudden screeching sound over the ear bud. _That didn't sound so healthy for the Leon and the gang in the chopper_. I peeled the bud out with a finger and glared at it for a moment. My ear was ringing. The ear bud continued to scream sounds, pinched in between my fingers.

"A challenge? From these cretins?" Vergil gestured with a sweeping hand to include the shambling bodies surrounding us at the speed of molasses.

"I'm the challenger, dipshit, remember?" I asked flatly. "Therefore my actions are the challenge, right?"

"As I said, what challenge?"

"Hey if you're too much of a pussy to screw around with us 'pathetic humans' here on earth, then as per usual, you can fuck yourself. I'll just have fun by myself."

"I didn't say no," Vergil replied smoothly, watching me carefully. That half grin was still lingering on his lips.

"You didn't say yes either," I said pointedly.

"A _friendly_ wager then." Vergil took a deep breath. The word friendly rolled off his tongue with a derisive touch to it. "Winner may demand one _something_ from the loser, provided it is something the loser can give." He paused, "You truly are a fool, Lauren."

"And you're a half human asshole," I said sweetly. I turned away, coming face to face with a drooling zombie. Reaching out I jerked on its chin and the back of its head, twisting both clockwise. The infected fell, its neck popping as I broke it. "That's five for me."

"You should close your eyes, Lauren," Vergil suggested, turning away. Enryuu was held loose in his hand as a cold winter wind blew past us. My breath frosted in the air. The tip of my nose was starting to drip..

"What?" I demanded, unsheathing Rudra and Agni once more. I fell into an offensive stance, readying myself for the slow wave of dead surrounding us. Vergil laughed, his voice colder than the winter around us.

"You might get nightmares watching this."


	38. Mysterious Lady and the Detective 2

**Rayne**

Her arms were crying pain. She'd never felt this kind of muscular weakness before. It wasn't just her arms either. Her legs burned, at a near end of their endurance threshold. Panting, Rayne rested a moment, leaning against the wall with her burden. It was only a few feet from where she'd been tied up to the entrance of Kain's little laboratory. He'd ensured that his meals wouldn't interrupt his work. Yet another thing he was going to pay dearly for. The unconscious man she was dragging with her should have been lighter. Or more aptly, she should have been strong enough to pull his weight without worry.

Somehow the man was still alive. His heart was doing skips and lunges in his chest, but he was alive. That would have to do for now. Bracing herself, Rayne fastened her grip on his arms and began to drag again. It took several painstaking minutes to get the man through the narrow doorway of the room. Once in, she let him droop unceremoniously against a wall, lumbering her way towards a nearby computer. It was the only one in maze of test tubes, blood samples and other scientific apparatus. There was enough blood in here for a feast. Rayne's stomach rumbled at the thought, but she had enough self control to leave the samples be. No doubt they were tainted with whatever Kain had been working on. Now that he had involved her in it, she would put his work through a meat processor.

She was in luck with the computer. Kain, the arrogant bastard, hadn't bothered with disconnecting the power or Internet, let alone password protecting his machine. From the sounds coming from the back of the lab, the room was run on its own generator. It was easy accessing file upon file of his research. The information was encrypted, but it didn't matter. She could make out enough from the visuals the data provided. All his work was her's now. Rayne connected to the internet, pulling up the familiar website by memory. It was an international dating site but it served for rough communicating purposes in a pinch. With her communicator gone, it was just a matter of time before she had a link to Sevrin. Sure enough a few moments later, a live streaming video popped up on the screen. _Ah the wonders of technology_. Granted Kain's computer lacked a web camea making it impossible for Severin to see her…however he could certainly hear her.

"Rayne, is that you? I half thought you were dead." The cool suave of Sevrin's voice barely hide the concern. As always, she ignored it.

"Sevrin, I'm sending you some files. A lot of them. I want to know what's on them and I want to know now."

"Get them to me and you'll have everything you need." Severin paused. "I was starting to get worried. You've been out of communication for several weeks."

"Believe me you'll hear all about it. Especially after I get my hands on Kain. They'll be able to hear his screams three years in the future," Rayne said coolly. Several weeks? She'd been gone for several weeks? What did that accumulate to? A month? Two months?

"Wait a minute, Kain? Kain who? Where are you? I'm not tracking a recognizable signal, but we're working on it. Give me a few minutes and I'll have your exact location. Do I even want to ask about that last mission you were on?"

"They're all dead."

"Right, I thought as much when the deposit came through to your account. I've got your location now. Listen Rayne, you need to get out of there. Your current location is dead center in a biological warfare hot zone. I've been monitoring the situation and it seems that the government has plans to sanitize the entire city within several hours. You don't want to be there when that happens. I'm sending a transport your way now. You should be able to make it out with plenty of time to spare."

"There's a small hitch."

"You don't do hitches."

"Not usually," Rayne agreed. "It's a human." Her throat hurt to talk.

"A human?" Severin considered for a moment. "I take it the transport isn't for you."

"No."

"We can make a double run, but don't be in the city after the next three and half hours. Not even you will be able to survive that."

"hmph," Rayne commented dryly. It was a good thing Sevrin couldn't actually see her condition. She would never live down the criticism or the sympathy. "Make sure there's something I can eat when the first transport gets here."

"Our people will be meeting you on the roof," Sevrin replied. "You have twenty minutes to kill before they get there."

"Not a problem." Rayne glanced over to the elderly man slumped against the wall. This was a problem. Where the hell was the roof.

"I'm sending a schematic of the building you're in right now. It would seem your location is under ground so you've got some distance to cover. Also send the information you mentioned. I'll get on it."

"Understood." The live feed window went black on the screen. Sevrin's image cut out. Woozy, Rayne leaned against the counter the computer was on. Now it was only a matter of getting the encrypted data to Sevrin before somehow miraculously getting the man to the roof of where ever this was. Rayne sighed, her hands running over the keyboard like well trained spiders.

"Rayne," Sevrin's voice was low when he spoke next, making her jump. No doubt he was in the operating room at home. There were others there with him most likely. "Its good to hear from you again."

"Like wise," She replied. "Don't forget, the care package is for me and the human. No one feeds on him." Sevrin sighed.

"I understand. Be careful." The connection went dead.


	39. Cafeteria Food

Holy Hell I live. Sorry for the delay. You guys deserve so much more than a few measly chapters but I'm not making any promises. Other than I had no intention on going on a two month long hiatus. T.T**  
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**Lor  
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_Why is there always a super freak in the crowd? _It was a triad of those super mutated zombies. Vergil and I had come upon them in an open cafeteria, just outside of the Snoopy land amusement park. According to the GPS there was supposed to be survivors in the amusement park, but they were dead or zombified by the time we got there. Another survivor hold out was located on the top floor. It was the last other human life indicator on the GPS. That meant stairs…_again_…

A skinny stitch with elongated arms and legs darted past my peripheral, flanking Vergil and drawing me back to the moment. It was a super mutate that held itself aloft, like a spider, with its arm and legs joints bent at unnatural angles. Did I mention its ability to crawl across the wall like a spider? It shuffled sideways like a crab, its arms moving in quick stiff jerks. _Fucking disgusting._

The three zombies we were contending with were by far the most disturbing things I had come across yet. There was something so human yet so inhuman that it was uncanny. Hell every zombie here was king of the valley of uncanny. Normal enough at first look but disturbing and grotesque upon a second glance. It was as if your mind couldn't decide what to make of the last vestiges of humanity in them. Was it there to serve as a reminder, a cautionary tale, or was it just a cheap façade zombies wore in order to mind fuck their prey? Not knowing the difference, not being able to see the difference, it was soul numbing.

A burping, gagging sound accompanied with the liquid splash of something hitting the floor drew my focus away from the spider stitch. To my left a big round soft blobby dead head lumbered forward, making repulsive bloated sounds. There was green curdled puke dribbled down its chin and front. A striped t-shirt strained to cover the unnatural bloating skin of the zed, ripping at the seams in some places. A trail of dark evergreen chunks floating in slime followed behind it. Just looking at the creature made my mouth sweat in a sick way.

As if on cue, the fat blob made a throw up sound. _Hell no!_ Nearly falling on my butt, I scrambled to get out of the way. The blob erupted like a fountain, puking up a green bile like substance. The goo splashed over tabletops and scattered food trays. It was sticky, collecting in gelatinous glumpules that smelled of rancid meat. Gagging I backed up more. My stomach rolled, urpy at the sight of it all. I came to a stop when my back collided with Vergil's.

"Oh my god, that's disgusting," I said, eyes watering. Vergil half turned, taking in the creature.

"46," Vergil replied to that, smirking. _Cocky bastard_.

"39," I retorted flatly, "But that thing has to count as two on the kill-o-meter. Its bigger than any other zombie we've run into."

"Are you changing the rules of the agreement then?" Vergil asked, a condescending tinge danced in his words.

"Oh shut up," I snapped, tightening my grip on Agni and Rudra. Squeezing in one last clean breath, I started forward. Using a table as a jumping board, I flipped through the air, just barely evading yet another stream of sticky green puke. Arching over the blobasaurus, I got a nice close up view of the stitch's oozing cysts, each one the size of a football. _Talk about back acne from hell…._

Rudra and Agni lashed out, cutting deep through the blobasaurus's cranial tissue. The result was a mini grand canon, grown right through the middle of its head that extended backwards into a splintered spine and torn up back. As I landed, blobasaurus, pulled by gravity, fell face forward. It bounced, its bloated exterior jiggling a bit as it made soft fleshy impact with hard ground. Green and black pooled around its creator head. My stomach flip flopped at the sight of it.

A loud screeching filled the air. I looked up to see Vergil impaling the spider mutate through the stomach. The zombie screamed, gripping the sword with its remaining hand and feet, trying to stop its slow decent onto Vergil's blade. The other arm was nothing more than a bleeding stump of ink. Vergil waited, watching impersonally as the stitch left a gathering of its insides slathered along the length of the blade. When the zombie was close enough he reached forward with a hand, gripping the dead head around its elongated throat. _Well that dead head is fucked…_

With a cold smirk, Vergil jerked enryuu to the left while pinning the demon in place with its throat. The dead head screamed as a gaping hole to its gastrointestinal track was opened. Black sprayed over the grey plastic eating tables, just like the bile puke from the blob had done, slicking them over with grey sausage like innards. _God, I'm never going to eat McDonalds again after this._

The high pitched howl-scream continued, ringing in my ears. It didn't last though. Vergil crushed the zombie's neck in the palm of his hand. He let the lifeless infected drop to the ground, next to the first zed he'd killed.

"48," he said turning to me as he flicked unmentionable body fluids off the length of enryuu.

"40," I retorted unimpressed. "We should probably-"

Another howl-scream cut me off. What the spider stitch had started, this new call was finishing. It was a long multi-tonal howl, consisting of not just one voice but of many. A ghastly sound, a true voice of the dead, it hit a deep chord of despair and anger. It was a terrible sound, if only because it sounded so human even though it wasn't. The howl was a joke, a cruel misguided joke, making a mockery of the human voice. An undead opera call and it set shivers running across my skin, sticky like spider webs. As quickly as the call had gone up, it faded. An eerie quietness lingered in the acoustic silence left over from it.

"What the hell was that?" I breathed, not willing to break the silence. Doing something like that could only be back luck. Vergil said nothing as we waited in the destroyed cafeteria, listening to stillness of cheap mall music. We didn't have to wait long to figure out what the howl was about.

The first of them dropped from two stories up, landing with superior ease. It was an infected, but not like the super freaks we had just killed. It wasn't like any common infected I had ever seen before. Black veining gathered around its lips and its eyes, making them all but obscure splotches on its face. On closer examination, I realized that it had no eyes to speak of. Its mouth was filled with dark black saliva. The tongue that flicked out was long and snake like. Its hands looked like hooked claws, the bones of the fingers somehow protruding and fusing with the nail.

The creature sniffed the air, its non-existant eyes seemingly to regard Vergil and I. That nasty tongue lashed out in the air again. I held my breath, slowly falling into a defensive stance. Tilting its head back the stitch howled, a long lupin call. It was answered in turn, by the same multi-tonal call from earlier. It sounded more uniform this time, more together. Head still tilted, the zed called again. The sound reverberated through my bones and set my arm hairs on edge.

At least until it was cut off.

Mid-screech Vergil thrust his sword through the zombie's throat. With a wilting, wheezing sound, the howl ended. Vergil, unsatisfied, fed his aura to the demon blade, allowing infernal flames to lick up the length of the blade until the zombie's head was microwaved into a melted flesh mass. Turning he threw the stitch into the far wall. Leaving a bloody splotch upon impact, the howler fell to the ground, silent and unmoving, headless just like all its breatheren we'd dealt with so far.

Despite the howler's dead state, another answer call responded, closer than ever. Individual voices could be heard in the call this time. _Oh hell…._ It hit me then, like a hard brick to the stomach. The howler had been sending up a zombie call to arms. A freakin' horde was coming our way, called here both by the spider zed and the howler. Jesus, there was no way there should have been two zombies to act as necro masters. How the hell could two different zombies call for a horde then? Why did these common infected look so strange? _What exactly is going on here?_

"Shit," I breathed as the first of many zombies emerged from the depths of the mall. They came from every direction, from every floor. I glanced over to Vergil, raising a questioning eyebrow. Vergil, however, was already dealing with the problem at hand. Enryuu smashed downward, driving a common stitch face first into the hard ground. Bringing the blade up in a broad swing he sliced another common infected in half while sending a shockwave along the ground. The auric attack erupted concrete, leaving a long gouge in its wave along with the limbs of any zombies caught in the crossfire.

Even with that, the zeds were surrounding us. Vergil already had several of them at his back. Pulling Rudra and Agni in a crude X I let loose with an auric attack of my own. The flames erupted in a tidal wave, burning down any who stood between Vergil and I. The only way we were going to survive this would be back to back. There were too many of them to be able to watch your own.

Those common infected I had started fire to, ran about crazed and flailing until they flumped to the ground as a charcoal lumps. Running forward I jumped slamming both feet into a heavy-set zed lunging towards me. Arching my back, I flipped, my hands somehow landing in the foul puke of the blobasaurus before I made it to my feet. It was warm to the touch and I nearly gagged when I rose strait up. _God this shit smells…_

Claws dug into my arm, cutting through the fabric of both the jacket and my shirt. I spun, hitting the zitch in the face, and cracking nose bone with my knuckles. Black blood oozed from its eyes and the mess its nose had become as it fell, limp and dead. There were three more to my left and another six to my right. Rudra and Agni flashed like lightning and thunder, hacking through facial tissue and hard bone far too easily for comfort. The three to my left were taken in one blow, all of them severed at the neck. Their wounds were cauterized on impact. The smell of burnt flesh was as pungent as the bile and innards that slicked the table tops.

Shifting gears, I made sure the six to my right were next to go. Agni jammed upward through the stitches chin, coming out through the forhead. With that one dead I moved on, throwing rudra into the face of the next charging zombie. The impact of the blade took the zombie off its feet, throwing it to the ground as Rudra erupted into a wirl wind, smattering the zed's brains from the inside out. Yanking Agni free I leapt, landing on the shoulders of the next zed. Squeezing its drooling head between my thighs I twisted my body to the left, snapping its neck. As the zombie fell, I landed, my boot grinding into the filthy ground. I took a breath and wound up for a spinning kick. My heel connected with the cheek bone of the next infected, driving the creature into the ground. I downed Agni into the back of the infected's head, making sure it wouldn't get up again. Rising I took on the last contender. Agni drove hard into the stitch's shoulder and I dug my fist into its gut. The zombie flipped over my body, landing hard on its back before Rudra sliced its head off. Agni erupted into flames, laughing as his edge cut flesh.

Panting I collected Rudra again. The first wave had been dealt with but there were hundreds more still coming. I was no closer to Vergil than I had started out with. I cursed under my breath. _Time to start getting creative._

**Hunnigan**

There were every conceivable method of observation gathered in the intelligence room. Monitor upon monitor had tapped into the numerous security systems utilized by businesses across the twin cities. It went without saying air support and satellite systems were being utilized to the max as well. The observation of the infectees and well as the progress of any survivors had to be documented and made note of. It was procedure.

More importantly, every camera available was watching the unfolding scene at the cafeteria in the Mall. Lor and Vergil were progressing far beyond initial assessments had suggested they would. In fact, their visible abilities were borderline supernatural. Their fighting techniques could have been cut from any number of action movies. Not to mention they demonstrated an unnerving disregard for maintaining a safe distance between themselves and the infected. While Lauren may have been immune, her companion was decidedly not.

Raziel had made it very clear that Vergl-if he was anything like his unknown male relation-he was particularly susceptible to viral contamination. Yet the pair of them continued with near like machine precision to annihilate any infected they came across. Speaking of unknown male relations, the tests had come back. The man in the containment ward-Vergil's twin-was showing reactions both to the virus and the serum. His immunity system was rejecting both the cure as well as the virus. The woman was also rejecting the sedatives and her dosage had to be increased to near lethal levels for any noticeable effects to arise.

Those viral samples the agents were gathering out in the field had better do something in the way of assisting Raziel with his cure. Now more than ever it was important that a usable cure be created. Hunnigan watched the monitor before her, unflinching and unblinking.

There were hundreds descending upon Lor and Vergil. It was unnerving to see them moving so fast that their actions did not register. She literally could not follow them as they moved across their grainy monochrome battlefield. Rather, the results of their actions were the only visible reminder that any progress was being made at all. If by some chance one missed the growing pile of bodies surrounding them, the new black paint job of the cafeteria was dead obvious.

The mall had been the greatest threat zone. It was also held the lowest probability of survivor recovery. Perfect stomping grounds for the two of them. No need to worry about an innocent bystander dying as a result of those two loose cannons. Now it was just a matter of getting thermal and electromagnetic readings of the fight before her. No doubt the information such a recording could provide would be valuable. _They have to know they're being tested. There was no way they couldn't know. _

"Ma'am, the strike teams are in the final stages preparation. Everything appears to be on schedule." An attendant reported, shouting over the noise of the observation room.

"Understood," Hunnigan checked her watch. "They have three and a half hours. I want a status report of our other field agents."

"Roger that ma'am." Hunnigan turned away from the monitors.

"Some one get Raziel here as well. I need his opinion on something," She added, in afterthought. It was time to confirm just what kind of sample Raziel needed.


	40. Cafeteria Food 2

**Vergil**

Little Lauren roared, vaulting over a slain infected. Amid the constant screams of the snarling creatures, among the gore and gristle, a familiar feeling was returning. She was at his back now, the space separating them nothing more than inches. Lauren was close enough that he could smell her sweat and hear the thundering echo of her heartbeat in her veins. She deftly avoided his sword with an ease that was native only to those born of strife. It was confounding that a mere human woman would be able to serve as a vanguard to one such as himself. However he'd be fool to expect less. Without fail Lauren covered what minimal holes in his defense he left. Like wise, he destroyed anything that got too close to his problematic partner.

Turning he drove the blade downward-holding back on a great deal of his strength. These creatures were a test of finesse, not of might. The creature's head split open like a rotten melon on a hot day, whatever the hard shell of the skull had held was spilt like water across the floor. They may have been humans with superior strength but they were nothing more than tainted cattle. With no armor and no logical means of defending themselves, it was nothing short of a slaughter. _Dante, you monkey faced fool, you thought these humans were redeemable. You tried in vain to keep from harming them too much…and you became their victim because of it. _It was all too clear in these circumstances to understand what his twin had vainly sought to accomplish. Dante hadn't wanted to destroy the innocence these things may or may not have possessed. He'd been a noble to his last untainted breath, saving humanity in daddy's name. The stupidity of the idea was enough to make Vergil's gut grind with nausea.

An infected snarled, yellow drool drizzling from its cut up mouth as it glared with pupil-less eyes. Easily he booted it to the side, impaling it on the leg of an over turned table. A backhand swing of the broadsword cut several more of the infected. Their bodies fell apart in halves, a forest of the slain falling like timber upon the blood soaked floor. The barrage was nearing an end. As it had been in hell, so was it here in this realm. Hundreds lay slain by his hand. _It is good to be King._

Vergil stepped forward. There were none that sought the edge of enryuu, nothing that moved in the giant heaping of left over body parts. _Pity._ Lauren's cut off voice, cursing, drew his attention. She was surrounded by the last of them. As expected, little Lauren had weathered the assault with far more grace that she would have demonstrated ten years ago.

Jacket hanging open, face flushed, Lauren drove one of her blades tip first into the eye socket of an infected. She was oblivious to Vergil, caught up in her own world of death and mayhem. Watching her now, he could gauge it, could see her growth. She was better at finishing heropponents. She controlled her aura with greater skill and no longer hesitated at the kill blow. How far did that control extend? Her ability to read the battlefield always had been a strong point, but that too was improved to levels of superiority.

He smirked to himself. She still wasn't nearly as good as he. _And she never will be_.

Now there was a thought. A viable entertaining thought… …. …. Just how much little Lauren had improved? She slashed at the charging dead. Her movements were textbook executions, nothing more than basic blade use in a common, mundane fight. However, to a weathered eye there was a fountain of restraint in her movements. She was holding back. Obviously so. Which begged to question: how far could he push Lauren? How much would it take to make her more than common? More than some mere human the fates hand chosen to scrape off the boot heel of humanity?

Yet there was more to it than that.

He knew, better than any other soul that walked this realm-or any other realm for that matter-that 'fate' was an illusion. Consequence was an offense God had done away with eons ago. The angels had made a pact and a sacrifice, their race-for all intents and purposes-now dead. It was the hefty price paid for usurping both god and the devil from his seat of power. The dead had walked the earth before, a legion amassed for the destruction of a would be omnipotence none would have. It was the angel of death, Loki, who saw to it that her own father rotted in prison of his own making-in place where he was neither alive nor dead. It was also Loki who had began the blood bound bargain between his family and hers.

History sought to repeat itself. The dead walked the earth because the Great Accord had been broken. The agreement between the great ancient tribes to seal away a power mad god had been broken. Vali-now dead these past ten years-had paid for her indiscretions with her life. Yet these abominations-these infected-arose seemingly out of non-existence. Loki was the ruler of the dead and the keeper to the realm of death. Had the ancient lost control over her own realm so easily? As the former key to the accord and one of Loki's chosen few, whatever was yet to come, Lauren would play a part in it.

He had forgotten. How could he have forgotten?

The realization made his body turn into steel rods. It was a nervous habit he had perfected over the years; never to give away his weakness by never showing it. Stress became his strength, the nervous energy-when properly harness-became a well of energy, which would have otherwise been wasted on pointless matters. There was a grand enemy here, but not one that was seeking out his realm at random. This was an enemy driven by an ancient force. Vergil gave the desecrated room a glance over. He saw what he expected to see: cannon fodder, endless multiplying cannon fodder. However, taken in context, the room took on a new light. A doorway to death that was swinging wide open, a god who had been prodded with the proverbial stick through the bars of his cage, and an invasion of unlife. Any halfwit with an eye for patterns would be able to see it, should be able to see it. This was the aftermath of the Accord, the messy afterbirth of the destruction of the Accord.

As always, it would seem he could not cast off this mantle, this blood bond between Loki and the Sparda blood. Not yet anyways. It should have been finished 10 years ago. All of it. He suppressed the thoughts and drove forward, crossing the room. Testing Lauren it was, for now. He would sort though the tangled assortment of evidence later. He moved, his footsteps light.

Lauren reeled, the lunging zombie had caught her off guard. She reeled, her eyes widening a fraction of an inch before she gritted her jaw. The creature fell upon her, tearing at the hands which held it at bay. Its mouth was mere inches from the soft flesh of her throat. The blade's flame was a dull blue flicker, a trail of hot ember following the blade's tip. He gutted the flam with sheer force of will.

Enryuu didn't so much as whistle as it flew through the air. The infected fell to its knees, its skin slowly turning a charred ashy color. Slowly the body of the creature crumbled into a pile of smoldering ashes and embers while the sword remained motionless. Vergil took the human in. She stood, blinking, mind reeling as she tried to take in the events that had just transpired. He held her gaze coolly. With a hand she wiped away the blood spatter at her neck, breaking their visual connection to look at the fallen. It was hardly recognizable as far as human remains went. The body had been burned from the core outward, all of its juicy insides now paper thin layers of dried tissues.

"That's a new trick," she said finally. Wordlessly he offered her a hand. She took it, jumping over the smoking ashes of the dead from her tabletop. Only upon landing did she notice the other part. Glancing down she brushed at her shirt. The skin of stomach and the sleek, subtle curvature of her muscles were a sharp contrast to the black material.

"Oh c'mon!" She declared, her voice booming in the now silent cafeteria. "Vergil, dammit, every time I find a top I like, I mean, I swear to god!" He offered her a sly side glance. "Don't you dare smirk," she growled. "You are _not_ funny and this is just damn embarrassing." Her face was completely red as she took in the tattered rags of her shirt. Not as aware as she should have been, that much was certain. She should have been able to avoid the blow completely. Unless little Lauren was playing a game of her own, which he wouldn't put past her, her abilities had only improved minimally.

"You look like a man in those clothes," He retorted easily. "I was starting to forget what you were." She made to slug him. Turning he caught her wrist, yanking her off balance. "Ladies don't hit."

"I'm not a lady," She retorted, attempting to yank her arm free. "So it doesn't make any damn bit of difference."

"As you wish," he replied, releasing her. With his free hand he gestured towards the walls of empty balconies around them. "I doubt you'll be lacking for a replacement. You have a world of choice in front of you Lauren. You always have." She paused then, looking hard at him.

"What's that supposed to mean?" she asked. Screams. Human screams echoed down from a higher floor. It was faint, but audible in the cavernous building.

"It means there are more of your precious humans still alive. Shall we?" he asked, gesturing towards the upper floors. She made a face, her brief severity forgotten like a fleeting wind.

"145," she said flatly.

"203." She flipped him off as she peeled back the left over sleeves of her shirt, sliding the scraps of fabric from under the leather straps of the sword sheaths. The jacket was all but forgotten, in a ruined pile at her feet.

"You're helping me get a new shirt," she replied, still not satisfied. Her exposed skin had goosebumps spreading across it from the chill of the air. "I'm not killing zombies in a sports bra."

"You could do it naked," he retorted, "if it's such an inconvenience." Lauren sighed, rubbing her forehead.

"Unlimited demonic strength, razor edge finesse, and perverted to the core. You really know how to show a girl a good time." He didn't give her words more than a second's consideration.

"You're the only human I know who enjoys these games Lauren." With a hand, he pulled her close, letting the change take over. Lauren had improved. There were no tell-tale cuts as there should have been, no blood decorating her clothing. As there would undoubtedly have been ten years ago. Only her shirt had been destroyed. _Hmmm_…. He tightened his grip on the squirming woman.

"Then that makes us two of a kind," She grunted, hand digging into his shoulders like claws. Her skin was warm underhand. "I hate flying. Almost as much as I hate falling." She graced him with a murderous look. "You drop me and I swear," She didn't bother finishing her sentence as they sky rocketed upwards.

"Nervous Lauren?"

"Should I be?" Personally, he could only wonder at that. Instead of giving voice to his thoughts, he laughed, causing her scowl at him in an impressive attempt at a truly evil look. Her face only made him laugh harder.

**Hunnigan**

"Ma'am, we've lost visual of two of our field agents."

"Which ones?"

"Mall cameras. Star and the spooky guy." She crossed the crowded communications room.

"How did you lose visual?"

"Cameras just quit. Might be wiring, might be power supply. We're trying alternative electrical routing."

"Show me our last visual," Hunnigan leaned over to see the monitor.

"Pulling up the last visual now." The grainy black and white security footage began to play on the screen. The scene lasted for perhaps thirty seconds at most. The dark figures of Star and Vergil stood out in high contrast to the infected. A white light flared, before the footage went black.

"How long ago was this taken?"

"Ten minutes at the most, Ma'am."

"What happened to the local cameras?" 

"We have no idea Ma'am. Best quess? There may have been a massive electrical surge of some kind. None of the cameras in the cafeteria area seemed to have survived it."

"How many cameras were there?"

"Four in total, only three angled enough to track the agents."

"Any idea where the electrical surge may have come from?"

"No Ma'am. There's a lot of environmental interference to factor out. It could have been anything to faulty wiring to a blow transistor at the local electrical company."

"Find out who's supplies the mall's utilities. I want to know the status of the company when this footage was taken. If there is an evac team called for I want a quick analysis of the camera wiring, complete with photographic proof of findings. Send the footage to the specialists if you have to, but I want to know what happened to those cameras. Track down Star and Vergil. They haven't left the mall yet. Eyes on them at all time, record everything you can. I want usable field data on our newest agents."

"Understood Ma'am." Hunnigan leaned back, crossing her arms. It was nothing more than a hunch, but the coincidence of that happening more than once was slim. The cameras, in the hospital basement of Hope, Arizona, had done the same thing. One moment Lauren Star had been walking down a hall, approaching a large crater of sorts. She'd entered the crater, disappearing from camera sight. Half a minute later the camera had been knocked off line by a massive electrical surge. It came never came back on line.

There was a second case with identical security camera failure. Admittedly the evidence was inconclusive at best. When the bio-weapon had stormed the base, during Star's jailbreak, many security cameras had malfunctioned as well. However with heavy causalities sustained by the staff and the damage to the facility itself, the camera failure was officially contributed to the incident itself. She had her doubts though.

What was it about Star and that man? They already knew both of them were different. Star's physical attributes far exceeded human standards. That man though-and his twin being kept in the containment ward-he was obviously more than what he claimed to be. There were no words she knew of that suited him appropriately in way of a name. Her mother used to tell bed time stories of monsters, but even then, they never destroyed life the way this man could.

In fact of the two of them, Vergil was perhaps the more interesting one. There were no traces of infection in his blood work, yet obvious mutations were present all the same. If those mutations were to be isolated, using the right kind of genetic engineering, the military and medical applications were limitless. The kind of information his genetic held, the kind of information Star's genetics held, could make the decimation of the T-Virus, urobouros, and any other genetic altering cocktail a real possibility. It could also make the current bio weapon arms race that much more of a world shattering possibility. Those two possessed the kind of genetic material that had started Spencer's research into immortality to begin with. The T-Virus had been the result of Spencer's work. The decimation of human life was his infamous legacy.

This field test was going to be a difficult thing to bury afterwards. The less the world knew of Star and Vergil, the better off it would be. Humanity had to be protected from itself at all costs. Hunnigan sighed, playing with the top button on her blouse. In two hours she could begin to destroy all evidence of Vergil and Star's participation in viral sample extraction. It was just a matter of waiting it out until then.


	41. Famous Footwear

**Kain**

His head hurt, stretched like a winding sheet over a corpse to encompass all that was his and all that did belong to him. In one moment he could feel the grind of bone against his teeth as he bit down into the soft underside of a cat. The pavement beneath his feet, uneven and cracked, slick with winter's ice. Another heartbeat and he was across town driving his fists into a sturdy wooden door, the desperate, panicked screams on the other side a fuel to his hunger. Already the bones at his wrists were splintered from the abuse the door had to offer. Still like mechanical clockwork, his fists hit the door. Over and over and over again. A moment later and he was chasing after a human, the smell of their sweat and fear almost sickly sweet compared to chill of snow. His heart beat and he was in a toy store, dragging a stuffed animal behind himself, as he slowly munched on a severed human arm. He was standing on a rooftop, ready to leap onto the unsuspecting humans below, his talons sharp. He was falling the next instant, a round of buckshot in his chest and another round in his leg. His fingers dug into the rising snow tides, begging for some miniscule assistance, something to bring him closer to the smell of meat.

Kain was all this and more. A thousand, thousand moments, each an individual link to the continuous chain of the present. His head hurt, spider webbing between so many sensory inputs. He was in a crowded mall store, huddling with frightened humans while his minions lurked just out of reach. He saw himself through the gaps in the metal linked security wall, pallid and still, as if nailed to the dirty floor. Then he was drifting again, climbing a building three blocks away. He was underground, lurking the darkness of the subway for ratty tidbits. He was on the floor of a honky tonk, a pool stick rammed through his torso.

Though the buzzing images, Mynce's pallid hand cleared away the sweat at his brow. Kain was overcome, and no longer in control of the hive mind. He'd lost control of his endlessly multiplying army hours ago. Where had it all gone wrong? The bypass to a god like consciousness had been so close at hand. The center of his head hurt. The sight of him returned, with those mewling humans, Mynce quietly hovering over him. And then the connection was lost, the sight of him obliterated into blackness. It was the closest he had ever gotten to death, even as a vampire.

**Lauren**

My foot drove into the back of the zombie's skull, throwing it face first into the hard marble floor. My heel shifted, uneven as I crushed the spinal cord at the base of the neck. Despite the de-shirting, there wasn't time to stop at the local Hot Topic for a pick me up. Figures. The store was less than fifty feet away and it might as well have been miles. Somehow a group of twenty or so people had barricaded themselves in nearby Famous Footwear. Naturally, the left over stitches had congregated around the only food source left in the mall. There had to be at least twelve of the zeds surrounding the store. One of them was another super freak, a big hoss that looked like a tan impersonation of the hulk. The Hoss had muscles on his muscles and the strength to back it up.

Big Hoss roared as Vergil landed, his demonic side falling away. The super freak's voice was a trumpeting bellow, as he created two mailbox sized craters in the ground. Hoss had gnarled, scarred over fists and a short temper. His mouth opened wider and this time, his bellow made the center of my eardrums vibrate almost painfully. I crouched, pressing both palms to my head to block out the sound. _Ah, shit, the call to zombie arms._ _Not dealing with that again bright eyes_. Wincing, I reached for my short sword. I threw Agni, boomeranging the sword. The blade cut through Big Hoss's neck. It became embedded there, cutting off big boy mid-bellow. My ears rang from the sound wave assault. _God that sucked_.

Vergil snarled, striding past me. For a brief moment, I saw a faint crimson line trickling down the side of his neck. _How's that demon blood serving you now, Lancelot? _It glimmered with a cobalt sheen that seemed to crinkle with an electrical radiance. His blood was humming with power from his recent transformation. The view passed and a mili-seond later he eviscerated three zombies as he stomped through the hallway, intent on the Hoss. I crossed my arms and leaned back on my heels. _No use stopping him_. Vergil would make the Hoss hit the floor in confetti sized pieces for drawing blood. My ears buzzed which meant his had to be screaming.

The people in the famous footwear began to scream, as two stitches lurched towards them. With a deep breath, I started forward, Rudra easy in my hand. _I better get more than a pack of cigarettes for this_. The first zed went down with Rudra buried in its brain box. I spun, driving a round house heel into the second stitch. Some loud mouth woman screamed as the zombie's face slammed into the metal security barrier. I pinned the struggling, squirming dead head in place with my foot as I wrenched Rudra free from its comrade.

"Cover your mouth," I snapped, grinning like a beast to whoever was screaming. "Or I'll let the fucker eat you." I let the flat of my heel slide off the zombie's neck. Slipping my toe between its neck and the metal security gate, I kicked the zed away from the survivors. Snarling the stitch stumbled backwards, reeling. Onyx eyes laced with black spider webs locked on to me, a near intelligent light in the primal blackness. Arms outstretched, it lurched forward, drooling mouth open. Side stepping, I drove Rudra tip first into the fleshy under part just past the chin. The blade came up black through the top of the skull, and the zed fell to the ground officially dead.

By then I was pivoting, my right leg rising to wrap around the neck of a third stitch. The dead toppled easily, knocked over like a rag doll in the wind. I pinned it with my weight, my foot on its chest. I unsheathed Rudra and leaned over, kneeling. Rudra jammed into the zed's eyebrow ridge so hard the ground beneath its skull cracked upon impact. Still kneeling, I took a moment to breath easy. Big mistake.

"Look out!" An unfamiliar voice yelled. I glanced over to the Famous Footwear, but I didn't see who it was. Instead I felt two rows of teeth dig into my right shoulder. _Fuck you, flesh addict!_ It hurt more than it should have. I hadn't been expecting it. Rising, I threw a hand backwards, digging my nails into a buzz cut and flesh at the back of the zombie's skull. Hissing, I threw the zed forward, rising as I leaned over. The prick flew over my shoulder, flying. A good portion of my skin went with the bastard, along with part of my bra strap. It landed on its back, still chewing on its Lor bacon strip. _You're gonna pay for that, necro fuck_.

Tearing the sword from the ground, I stumbled backwards for footing. Blood trickled through my fingers as I tried to staunch the wound. My shoulder screamed for revenge. The wound was a gusher, but it was superficial. I caught my balance and took a breath to steady my uneasiness. Vertigo swept over me, making my vision waver. The zed got to its feet, unfazed by the body throw. Chewing on my skin, with my blood dripping down its chin, it stared at me with hollowed black eyes. I ground me teeth together, growling. _How dare that fucker chew on me like dog treat_.

"Eat this," I growled. Rudra dove forward, my aura dancing up his shaft and edge. The blade broke teeth, cut through tongue, and finally, severed the spine. The back of the zed's head blew out as if a round of C4 had been placed there, my aura scrambling the stitches brains into yolky fluids. My knuckles brushed against the fleshy, bloody stumps of left over gum material before I withdrew the sword. Pinkish red slushie ran down the gaping hole at the back of the stitch's neck. The distinct sound of someone tossing their cookies came from the Famous Foot ware. I shot a glare towards the store as the smell of it wafted my way.

My shoulder burned, blood still oozing from it. It was healing, but unlike in Hope, it hurt. There were three more normal stitches left. The light-headed feeling was going away. Their dead eyes were locked on me, their breath nothing more than pants. Blood was in the air. Uninfected blood. They could smell it the same way a rabid wolf could smell cattle in a barn.

A deafening percussion echoed along the hall. The hulk-wannabe slid across the marble ground taking out two of the normal zombies. The weight of Big Hoss left nothing but black ink smears behind as it crashed into the hall. More screams came from the Famous Footwear. The super freak was on its side, not more than ten paces away from the flimsy metal barrier the survivors had used. The Hulk flailed. There were ragged, bone-fragmented stumps where its legs should have been. With a choking wheeze, it clawed at the ground. Each finger on the Big Boy's hand was the size of a large brat.

The lights on the other side of the hall were gone. Most likely destroyed by Vergil and the hulk. The Prince of Darkness earned his name. Like an icy shadow Vergil stepped forward. Bending down, he yanked Agni free, cutting out the rest of the Hulk's throat in the process. Gallons of black seeped onto the floor, coating the top of Vergil's boots. With out so much as a back wards glance, Lancelot let Angi fly with a flick of his hand. He never deliberately aimed, but hit the last normal infected dead center in the forehead.

The Hoss reeled, gaining purchase with an elbow. It drove a fist at Vergil, a hoarse wheeze in its throat. Lancelot wasn't there for the impact. Instead Vergil was at the super freak's back. The heavy sword cut through the remaining portion of the Hulk's neck, shattering its jawbone as it came out the creature's mouth. I sheathed Rudra. The Hulk was dead, it was just too damn dumb to realize it. Flames licked down Enryuu's length, even as the Hoss began to reach behind his head. Vergil proceeded to make ashes out the Hoss, burning the creature alive. He took back his sword only after a black stain smeared the floor. Black flakes remained from the creature's pool of blood. _That's that. _My army issued boots made squishy sounds as I crossed the hall.

I stepped up to Vergil's side. He'd moved to the more normal sized stitch with Agni embedded in its head. Coolly, he bent down and retrieved the sword. Offering it to me, blade first, as I approached him. I raised an eyebrow as I took in the ash pile of The Hoss. _I've got to learn how to look that graceful and cool when I graduate to Bad Ass extraordinaire_.

"You have something to say?" He demanded, a caustic edge to his voice. He handed over my short sword, his body stiff. He was daring me to comment on his still bleeding ears. Demonic hearing, usually it was far above that of a human's, as was any demonic healing process. However, that bellow had been loud. I wasn't dumb enough to step on that land mine, but I didn't have any problems flirting with disaster

"You have red on you," I said, reaching up and swiped away the trickle of blood marring the side of his neck. My shoulder complained as I moved my arm. I wiped my hand on my pants. "That fucker had a loud voice." I reached for the cell phone Hunnigan gave me. Vergil wiped away the rest of the blood as I turned away. There was only one number saved to the phone. "Hey Hunnigan, we found survivors."

"Your position has been tagged. An evac is being sent out as we speak." She paused for a moment. "You appear to be injured."

"I'm also shirtless," I pulled up my sagging sports bra. _Damn boobs_. "The mall is more or less secure. The survivors locked themselves up in a Famous Footwear."

"Roger that. We've received reports of intense infection activity down town. Resupply yourself. You have more work to do. I'm up loading the coordinates to your phone now. I want you and Vergil to check it out. Bring back any interesting samples you find." _Samples?_

"Hunnigan I'm covered in 'samples'," I made a face. _I smell like road kill_.

"Tissue matter is preferable to blood samples," Hunnigan replied, all business. "If there is to be a proactive element to any cure we can create, we'll find it utilizing what there already is. We need to understand the origins and viral contamination methodologies of this newest outbreak. For that we need fresh tissues." _Are these guys spreading the virus of fighting it? _Sometimes I honestly wondered.

"…the hell? Isn't that backassward?" Hunnigan sighed.

"Lor," she began.

"If I get brains stuck under my finger nails I'll be sure to pass it along." I interrupted her, rolling my eyes. I didn't want to get into a pissing match. I was too damn tired at the moment for it.

"Your evac location and time has not changed. You have little under two hours to complete this secondary mission."

"How exactly do you want us to transport the 'samples'?"

"There are supplies being dropped at the mission coordinates as we speak."

"Wow you though of everything, mom."

"Hunnigan out." The call ended and the new 'mission' location popped up on the phone's screen. _No wonder they call these things crackberries…_

"Did you get all that?" I asked Vergil, turning back towards him.

"Those humans are fools." I snorted as I pocketed the cell.

"Verg, you just barbequed a zombie. Are you seriously bitching about being able to do that again?"

"All traces of this plaque should be destroyed." Right he has a point but I'm down a bra strap and still shirtless. "Or did you have some other purpose in that small town?" Vergil demanded. Again, valid point and obvious info fishing, but there's one tiny thing Lancelot doesn't realize. My business in Hope was just that: _my_ business. It isn't any damn concern of his.

"I need a shirt," I said, avoiding the topic. I pulled my hand away from my shoulder, rubbing away the left over blood on my pants. It joined the black and cobalt red splatter already there. My wound was healed but the shoulder was still bruised an ugly purple black. "Babysit the humans for a while," I turned towards Hot Topic. "I'm going shopping."


	42. Team Elite: LS style

**Leon & Sheva**

He was no stranger to the long hours of stress and chaos the battlefield presented. If anything, there was a part of his mind carved out for such things, a place in his psyche where the guts and blood and pure survival instincts and adrenaline had portioned off. It was that part of his mind where the horrors of Raccoon City had been processed and buried, nesting in an almost obscene way. The walls the horrors of the world had built in his mind allowed him to function like a normal person, if only to preserve the rest of his senses. There were times when he wondered, if it hadn't been for that small amount of hell embedded there, would his mental facilities had vanished altogether? Would he have been left standing in the middle of a crowded building screaming his head off? They called it post traumatic stress disorder, PTSD for the med heads. It was an anxiety disorder, but that was just a medical definition used to explain what could only be considered incomprehensible. The dead shouldn't walk. They shouldn't have to eat either.

Leon hesitated, waiting for Sheva to get into position. Sample retrieval had gone smoothly. Several vials of tissue samples were squirreled away both on his and Sheva's persons. This job was easier with out terrorists. It was also that much more horrifying. Things had progressed so quickly. The world had fallen to chaos, even with his vigilance. He had sworn nothing like Raccoon City would ever happen again. So many lives were lost to this. So many souls had screamed, desperate to escape a wave of flesh consuming destruction. There was no reason for this madness. No reason for any of it.

"Leon, evac in t minus 30," Sheva whispered. They were to be the first field team to get evac pick up. Sheva's back was plastered to the wall, six inches left of a metal doorframe. The door was closed. No saying way lay beyond it. Why a hospital rooftop had to be an evac point he didn't know. A horde had broken down the barriers at the front of the building. There was nothing but carnage on every floor. People too weak to leave their beds had become crawling ravenous, eating machines. It had been Sheva's idea to by pass floor trolling by climbed up the elevator shaft. That had gone smoothly until the third to the last floor. The elvator had gotten in the way and they'd been forced to chance the stair well.

Sheva's had flexed nervously on her gun. Leon nodded, understanding her concern.

"There's two more evac points. They will be picking up Chris and Jill, then Star and Vergil before circling back for a final check on our status. If we miss this evac there will be time for another one, but I'd rather not push our luck. For now we need to secure our evac point." Leon centered his handgun on the door. He glanced to Sheva. She nodded, readying her own handgun. Leon kicked the door open. There was nothing but blackness to greet them beyond the doorway. The stairwell they stood in was destroyed. While they couldn' t go further up at this particular place, another stairwell existed across this floor. If not, there may be another viable elevator shaft. Either way it was his and Sheva's objective to get across the floor with all their samples intact.

Slowly Leon and Sheva made their way into the darkness, the light beams from their flashlights traveled only a few comforting feet in front of them. Sheva covered the rear as he slowly made his way down a bloody and beaten hallway. Somewhere something wasn't right, it was far too quiet here. All the other floors had been macabre, awash with the horrors of the infection. There wasn't so much as the sound of scuffling to be heard here.

Leon held up a closed fist, silently indicating to Sheva to stop. Leon studied the darkness before him. _What was that_?

Sheva hissed, the sound like a gunshot in the silence of the building. Dropping to a knee at her side, the two of them began to pop off shots. The silencers on the guns doing nothing to fend off the wave of the unholy hell headed their way. Tender pink and hard red-coated bone exploded, leaving lurching zombies headless. There were too many of them. They crowded the hallway, filling it from wall to wall, nearly climbing over each other. He placed a hand on Sheva's arm.

"Save your ammo. We need to move," Leon ordered her.

"Understood," Sheva responded, her voice clipped. Turning she gasped, bringing up her gun once again. The weapon went off wildly as Leon turned to her. Just in time to watch as she booted a zombie in the gut before pistol whipping it in the face. Together the two of them made their way back down the hall, retracing their steps. More and more infectees joined the horde at their back.

"Secure the stairs," Leon shouted over the roar of the infectees. Wordlessly Sheva moved past him, kicking the fire escape door open. A sudden high pitched buzz rang out, the sound of it moving over the raucous of the infectees. Blinking Leon nearly dropped his gun. He turned to Sheva. _Fire alarm? There's a working fire alarm? Where the hell was that when we went through it the first time?_

"Leon move!" Sheva shouted, standing in the doorframe. She readied her gun with a steady hand, firing off a few shots as Leon made his way to the door. Three of the infected hit the floor with sickening wet sounds.

"We need to barricade the door," Sheva exclaimed, slamming the fire door shut.

"No time!" Their foot steps sounded on the stairwell as they went down. "There's an elevator we can travel across the next floor." The sounds of the horde traveled behind them. The door to the fire escape slammed open as the two of them raced out of the certain death trap. This was not looking good. Already infectees were emerging from the rooms on this floor.

"Our cover is blown! I've got three rounds left for the TMP. How are we getting across this floor?" Sheva reloaded her machine gun. Not a lot of stopping power with a machine gun. Leon shrugged off his shotgun. It had stopping power, but it was loud. At least it would work until he was out of his shells. There was about twenty minutes left before the scheduled evac. The one grenade he'd stashed away had gone to stopping a high level mutated infectee.

"Only two rounds for the hand gun," Sheva added as she reloaded that gun as well.

"Thirty shotgun shells and three more rounds for the hand gun." Leon tossed her his two extra clips. A plan was forming in the back of his mind. "Make them count. We need to secure a room."

"Roger that." Sheva took a breath and flashed Leon a quick smile. They both knew there was a good chance they wouldn't make it to the rooftop alive. They weren't going down without a fight. Leon grinned back at her, casting a wary eye about the hallway. There it was, the last line of defense. A corner created at the side of the fire escape exit. He nodded to the corner. No need to worry about back attacks there.

"Fall back point." Sheva nodded, she understood. "We push forward." Sheva leveled her gun, as did Leon. This would be a fight to the finish. Push forward they did. Dropping ten infectees as they made their way to the first available room. Sheva entered the room first, neutralizing the three infectees within. Leon held the door until Sheva and he could close the door. They barricaded it, toppling two hospital beds and a heavy dresser to form a bulky last minute barricade.

"Break the window, get your rope ready. The barricade will last us three minutes top." Nodding, Sheva shouldered the TMP. Fists and groans sounded on the other side as Leon unraveled his rope. He was quick to tie several slip knots.

"How are we getting up?" Sheva handed him her own rope, already knotted.

"We go down in order to go up." Sheva blinked.

"_What_?" Rope fell in puddles around his feet. He was careful not to tangle them together. Leon shrugged off his back pack.

"Cover the door." Sheva leveled her guns on the door, giving him sidelong glances as he worked. Leon dug in his bag, searching for the ace in the hole. He pulled the metal box out from the bottom of the bag before repacking the viral samples they had collected.

"What is that?" Sheva demanded.

"Zombie D Day," Leon retorted, pressing his hand to the box. Picking at a hair line crack, he peeled away a thin piece of metal sheeting. A screen appeared behind it. A clock. "Get to the window. We're going up. This is staying here."

"Understood." Anchoring the rope to the wall beneath the window, Sheva was quick to assemble the rock climbing gear. The wall hooks gleamed in her belt.

"Start climbing," Leon barked. He was fiddling with the box. Sheva didn't find out what the device did until she was two thirds of the way between the two floors. A loud steady screaming sound pulsed from the room, and with it, came the howling of the infected. Leon was behind her then, hauling hand over hand as quickly as he could. He made up for as much lost time as possible. "Hold on, its-"

His voice was cut off, a massive explosion blew out the room they had just been in. They were too close to the explosion. The sound of the pulsing screeching sound had been nearly deafening, the following explosion left her head spinning. Heat radiated up Sheva's body. Her feet scalded inside her boots and her legs felt as if they were on fire.

"Leon," She screamed, looking below at the blaze.

"Right behind you," his voice was hoarse and chalky. His arms were red. She could only imagine what the heat from the explosion had felt like to him. "Keep climbing we're only half way there."

"Hold on," She said, stilling the shake in her voice. She prayed the wall hook would hold. Clenching the remainder of the rope in her hands, she unchambered the TMP and removed the clip from the weapon. Tying the end of the rope to the trigger and stock of the gun, she began to slowly swing the gun. She launched the weight at the window of the room above. Glass rained down on them.

An infected lurched out the window. Sheva shot it through the head with her hand gun. No more followed after that. She climbed the rest of the way up the floor to the window, her arms screaming as she finally pulled herself over the ledge. The room was secure. Tying off the end of the rope, she secured the room as Leon made his way up. Returning to the window she helped him through. His skin was hot to the touch.

"You've got burns," she said, uncapping a water bottle. Leon took it without comment. His watch beeped.

"We have ten minutes to evac."

"Two more floors to go," she added. "We could climb it." Leon shook his head, taking a long drink from the bottle.

"There won't be any infected on this floor. There shouldn't be any infected on the floor after that." He handed the bottle back to her.

"What was that?" Sheva began to collect the rope and TMP as Leon righted himself.

"They call it a Box Boy. Its an experimental by product of Hunnigan's bio engineering project. The box radiates sound and an enzyme that attracts the infected. I would have put the timer for longer but, it was only a prototype. The timer was fixed."

"Niffty toy."

"We should get moving," Leon stood. Sheva rechambered the TMP, the clip locking into place. Leon shrugged off his shotgun once more, looking wary.

"Roger that."

Sheva's boots crackled over fried floor tiles. The hallway outside their room had been baked by the Box Boy. No sign of the infected remained. The horde that had followed them downstairs was gone. Wiped from the face of the earth. Sheva motioned for Leon to follow her. Carefully they made their way down the hall. They'd be able to by pass the next two floors assuming the elevator shaft was usable. Ten minutes and counting. They might just make the initial evac after all.


	43. Mysterious Lady and the Detective 3

LBHE is back with updates. When summer ends there may be more updates more frequently. For the time being enjoy the nice weather outside! :D

* * *

**Rayne**

The snow was wet, even with the thick, hooded overcoat she'd 'liberated' from a mannequin. Small liquid acid burns that never would have bothered her before, now seared her flesh like individual embers. _Snow. _With a bare hand, she pulled the red scarf tighter around her mouth and face.

"Rayne, I've been listening to government frequencies. They have no idea what the cause of the infection is." Sevrin's voice broke in on her thoughts. His voice was a quiet, stern whisper in her ear. It hadn't taken her long to track down a cell phone and get a blue tooth hooked up. Rayne kept alert, even as she spoke with Sevrin. Her stilettos sunk deep into snowdrifts, making it easy to stumble if one wasn't paying attention. The street she walked was quiet.

"And?"

"I've managed to secure a relay loop. Anything they know, we'll know. That human man, Grant, has been evacuated to a medical detention facility. Whatever cocktail Kain cooked up, they're worried he might be contagious. The CDC has him quarantined with other evacutees while they investigate the nature of this viral outbreak." Sevrin paused. "They seem to be researching a cure, but they are going to sanitize the city, just as they did a few weeks ago."

"What of the people they haven't evacuated yet?" Not that she particularly cared, but it was a waste and a drain of resources if so many perished. The Red Cross could only support so many blood-suckers before someone was bound to notice.

"I've gotten wind of several extraction teams in the city. Their objectives are to secure survivors and collect samples for research. A recent call came in regarding the epicenter of the viral spread. I wouldn't recommend sticking around for them to show up. The particular team heading towards you is tasked with neutralization of the enemy."

"What do they want in particular?"

"It's questionable. They have standing orders to neutralize all hazardous bio weapons. As of now, that includes you. However, there are two more extraction teams still on the look out for survivors."

"Have you heard anything about that blood sucker Kain?"

"Nothing. They've managed to pick up several groups of survivors. You already know that story." Rayne ground her teeth together. Her trail was cold. Kain had ages of experience when it came to covering his footsteps.

"He's either dead-" Rayne began.

"Or he lost himself in the crowd," Sevrin finished for her. "The government may already have Kain in custody and not realize it. Whatever you do, you'll need to be out of town in under an hour. Find what clues you can but secure a place with one of the extraction teams."

"Any ideas on where to look?"

"Right now you're in the epicenter of the infection. Its more than likely Kain moved with the infection."

"Meaning he'll be on the out skirts of the plaque area."

"You guessed it. The entire city has been blockaded. Nothing and no one is going in or going out." Rayne took a breath. There were infected filling the street now, drawn the smell of blood on her person. There were only a few of them, but where one was, more were sure to follow. "You can't cover all that ground, but knowing whatever the government knows might help you locate him. If," Sevren paused for a moment, "If he survived. You may be able to use the extraction team to your advantage."

Rayne snarled. There were more infected humans gathering on her street. They were circling her. Coming up from the hidden shadows of the deserted surroundings. Their presence made the gritty, panic-ridden details of the dying city come into full focus. Broken windowpanes glittered like angel tears barely afloat on the salt white winter. The warm amber glow of a burning car refracted off what few windows remained intact. In more than one place red smatterings slashed across the diamond sea of cold. She lifted her chin, feeling the icy touch of winter's wind slid down her throat. The breeze carried a familiar scent. Those creatures, they smelled of Kain's scent and of her own, under the rotted smell of carrion. Her voice was guttural over the communication link.

"Rayne you may want to take the high road. The streets are going to be full of infected humans. It goes with out saying that feeding off of them…well, we have no idea what contaminants their blood may hold. Even with the data you've sent me its only incomplete. Our uplink was destroyed, so we only have half of his data. You still have the USB drive with you, I hope."

"Its safe and sound," Rayne retorted. The small rectangle dug into the fleshy insides of her bosum. The chain whip was ready in her hand. The infected were slowly lumbering towards her and beginning to shamble faster. It wasn't her style to run away, but it was her style to survive. She would hunt down Kain and _make him suffer_.

"Rayne, one more thing." She didn't bother replying. Her body flipped through the air, using the momentum from the chain whip swing. With near physics defying grace she flew, high jumping a roof top ledge. Her feet slammed down, the rest of her body centering itself naturally. Leaning forward she began to run across the roof top, avoiding the deeper drifts. "There's reports of operative activity very near you. It may be a good opportunity."

"Where?" She demanded. She leapt, flying from one rooftop to the next.

"Strait ahead, several blocks. It's a hospital. You can't miss it." She growled in response, quickening her pace.

**Grant**

**Containment Ward A**

His heart was pounding in his ears as he floated in and out of light and darkness. His head spun. If there was anything in his stomach, it would have been on the ground. That familiar squeeze in his chest was back, coupled with the sticky, scratchy feeling of gauze plastered to his neck. The area had been numbed before the stitches. The anesthetic was wearing off and the tightness around the throat wound was the most recent guest to the pain party. The sounds of the world came in clearly, however. As if a working a.m./f.m. radio had been lodged in his brain. Some small corner of his mind zeroed in on the sounds about him, kept him from returning to the ever-present seduction of oblivion.

"Where do you want this one? Most of the other rooms are filled with detainees." The rolling feeling stopped and left Grant awash in light. It was a man's voice speaking. He sounded young.

"What makes this one special?" Another man, not far away. It sounded as if he was hovering over him.

"He's been processed. That purple serum, what'd they call it again? Anyways, he's got the latest for viral decontamination. They found a medical tag on his wrist. He's been doped up with Omega 3 for a heart disease. They're not sure what kind of medication he takes or if it'll have adverse effects with the serum. He survived nearly have his throat tore out." The second voice was quick to follow up. "The docs think it wasn't human, the canine imprints were too deep. Must've been a panicked dog. They gave him a rabies booster just in case. The docs wanna keep this guy in a relatively comfortable area for the time being."

"Understood, hmmm…." The sound of rustling papers. "Ah we got a room. The only survivor of that last incident has been kept in isolation for about two months. The subject should have reached proper decontamination stages to allow his entry."

"Isolation? Are you sure this guy will be okay with a roommate like that? The docs were pretty specific up in surgery. Besides, they don't even know how effective that stuff is."

"What choice do we have? Besides the subject has been here two months without any viral contaminants detected in toxicology screening."

"Right. Where's the room at?"

"This way."

The flickering spasms of consciousness weakened then and the silence of sleep took over. When Grant drifted back, it was to the sound of three voices.

"Sarah, it says here you've been in isolation for two months, correct?" The second man's voice spoken, his tone carried an authoritative edge it hadn't previously.

"Who are you?" A young woman asked, her voice quiet.

"Answer the question please," The man stated flatly. Definitely an upper authority of some sort, but he had no idea what kind.

"Yeah, I've been here," the woman retorted, less quiet this time, a defiant edge to her tone. _Spunky kid_, Grant thought lazily. "What happened? Why is that guy on a gurney?"

"This man is to be your roommate for the time being. There's been an influx of detainees like yourself." The man holding his gurney shifted uncomfortably. He could feel the minute movements. They jostled at the pain he felt in his throat.

" 'Detainees'?" the girl asked. "I was told I was being kept here while they researched a full cure. I was told that I would be free to go and-"

"Yes, its noted here that you've been processed with the Serum. You're roommate likewise has gone though decontamination measures. He should be waking up shortly. If any complications arise, please let the guards know."

"Wait a minute, what do you mean by 'processed'?" The girl demanded, her voice rising slightly in alarm. "They told me I would be free to go in six months tops. Why are you putting a guy who's been bitten in here with me? My knee has already healed up, it didn't even scar-"

"I've already explained miss," the second man interrupted her, "there has been an influx of detainees. You've been chosen as his roommate precisely because you show no viral infection." The gurney began to roll forward. "Take a seat," the man's second voice barked.

"Why are you treating me like this?" The girl demanded, her voice low.

"You are not to leave your room miss."

"I'm just standing! I didn't even make a move to-"

"TAKE A SEAT!" The man roared. The gurney came to an abrupt halt, jerking to the right. There was the soft sound of clothing rustling to his left.

"…Jerk," the girl muttered softly.

"Food will be distributed shortly. Please let the guard know if there are any changes in your roommate's condition." The gurney man spoke now. "He should be coming off of the medication they used during the operation. He may be disorientated at first. Try to keep him calm. A nurse will be in to check on him within the next two hours." The footsteps retreated and the sound of locks turning echoed in the room.

"Are they for real?" The woman's voice muttered. "Dammit Lor, where are you? I want to go home and see Tweak again." Lor, the name sounded familiar. If only he could remember…


	44. Team Elite: LSR Style

**Leon**

**Hospital Roof-top, Twin Cities, USA**

"Get down!" Leon shouted over Sheva's gun fire. "Fire in the hole!" The small hand grenade flew over the heads of the zombies down into the stair well. _This routine seems familiar,_ Leon recalled warily. Hadn't he been in this situation before, not more than ten minutes ago? The elevator shaft had been a bust, but surprisingly the last two floors had been nearly devoid of infectees. Considering the mess on the first floors of the hospital, the infectees had probably shambled down to the first floors during the initial from the upper floors. Turning away, Leon shied away from the grenade blast. His shins and feet were conflagration against the cold of winter's night wind. No doubt the burns there were severe-maybe even second degree-but time was a commodity. Their evac would be there shortly. The grenade blast echoed, throwing rubble, body parts and snow into the air.

Sheva moved to cover him, squeezing off rounds as the dust settled. She dropped to a knee, the snowdrift on the rooftop nearly up to her waste as it caved under her weight. Her TMP rat-a-tated, the bullets making wet, moist sounds of deflated organs as they found their marks. Already a pile of bodies was building up in the pit left over of the stair well. In the far distance, the search light of their evac ride was faintly visible through the snowfall. It was cold on the top story, his fingers numbed against the metal of the handgun. The TMP rattled, no longer spitting out bullets. Sheva cursed under her breath, something quick and definitely not English.

"Out of ammo, switching to the handgun," Sheva shouted. Leon covered for her, taking down one reanimated infectee after another with precision headshots. It had taken him the school of hard knocks, and afterwards, hundreds of hours at a shooting range to perfect the metronome like ability of precision shooting. Hitting one of the smallest mass centers of the body was difficult to any adept gun user. He was a damn pro at it. Not something he was proud of, but a skill that was necessary in his line of work.

"Covering flank," Leon barked out, turning to his right. There was another mutate, one of the unusual infectees that had received a highly concentrated amount of the virus. It was climbing over the side of the building. Green vapors wafted from its open wounds, polluting the night air with a deep green gas. Cycts covered the infectee's visible skin. They too, oozed with a deep green black colored fluid. The white of the snow only highlighted the freakish gleam of the infectee.

Tall and skinny, the infectee made a hoarse coughing sound in its throat as it shambled across the rooftop. Its tongue was elongated, hanging around its knobby knees as the creature came to a sudden halt. In the back of his mind Leon knew this was not a good thing. No flesh eater halted when it came close to an uninfected person. Flesh eaters charged, they were always hungry. Hunger and rage were the only two emotions an infectee retained of their humanity. The empty clip fell from his handgun. Scrambling, Leon reached for the next clip, sliding it into place.

In a throaty cry, the mutated infectee lashed out as Leon fired off his handgun. The shots went wild, hitting the mutate in the right shoulder as its long tongue wrapped around his hands. The slime of its tongue slicked over both his hands and the handgun, constricting them together and coating them with a snotty green black fluid. Surprised, Leon pulled the trigger again, aiming for the zombie's head. Two more shots went wild, hitting the creature in the right arm and upper left thigh. He let his finger off the trigger. He was wasting valuable ammunition. With another horse cry, the infectee began to pull him in, reaching hand over hand on its tongue. _A lazy infectee? An infectee intelligent enough to be lazy?_ …_Shit_… Leon dug his heels into the ground leaning backwards against the pull as he struggled for his knife. He began to slide forward, inch by inch across the snow and ice covered his teeth, he glanced over to Sheva.. She had her hands full fending off the staircase. Beyond that, to her left, more mutated infectees were approaching, climbing over the wall of the hospital. Goddamn, the helicopter was only minutes away…

Screaming again, the infectee yanked harder on its tongue, throwing his balance forward. The snow was a brutal shock as the infectee pulled him across the rough ground and snow banks of the roof. Pulling back against the oily tongue, Leon reached for the knife sheathed at his shoulder. The closer he got to the infectee the more his chances of survival were narrowing. The wind shifted, carrying the scent of the infectee towards him. The sudden putrid blast of green gas made his lungs burn. _Poison. The gas was poison. A controlled stem of genetic evolution caused by the bio engineered virus_. The infectee had evolved with a defensive mechanism.

Screaming again the zombie pulled at him with persistent, inhuman strength, like a spider reeling in struggling insects. Movement to his right flickered in the corner of his eye, just has his hand squeezed the knife's handle. An infectee, another kind of mutate was crawling across the rooftop. It moved like a creature in a horror flick. Although its arms and legs pumped in a smooth manner, the process of crawling was a jerky thing, uncanny in the way it mimicked the movements of an uninfected human while simultaneously lurching and crawling with a broken body. The mutate growled lowly, red slop coating its chin. It had dark pits for eyes. Leon blinked, giving the lurking creature his full attention. The reason for the infectee mutate's jerky movement were the protruding bone like claws where human hands had once been. _Another uncontrolled branch of genetic evolution….an offensive mechanism. _

"Leon to evac," The com crackled in his ear. "We're bussing ass and will be there on the double. I repeat, Leon to evac, we are five minutes to pick up." The creeping infectee crawled closer, screaming now in a high pitched alto voice. The clearest voice, most human-like voice he'd heard from an infectee yet. Leon continued to pull on the other mutate's tongue, the knife hilt caught on the shealth's safety clasp. Meanwhile the tongue mutate was still pulling him, foot by foot across the rooftop. He was going to be torn apart between the two of the mutates. The creeper growled again, its body tensing. .._Sssshiiiiiitttt._

The creeper mutate jumped, flying through the air. Leon twisted, getting a knee beneath him and forking himself into a sideways roll. Anything to avoid that thing's claws. Rolling, getting to his other knee, Leon's finger tips scrabbled at smooth leather and metal. The tongue mutate paused, confused by his actions. The knife was his. He was free a second later, cutting through the rough rope like tongue of the first mutate. The tongue fell slack as snotty glumps of green black fluids pumped out of the ruined organ. The tongue infectee screamed, still holding its ruined tongue in its hands confused.

With a gun in one hand and a knife in the other, Leon sized his position up. The creeper mutate was recoiling, not more than two feet way. Any second and it would pounce. The sudden stillness to its movements were disquieting. The tongue infectee was still reeling, unable to comprehend what had been done to its fishing line. His training kicked in. Of the two of them the pouncer was the more dangerous and the immediate threat.

"Leon!" Sheva shouted, drawing his attention. She was being pushed back. The horde was in full swing. Staying where he was Leon aimed for the tongue infectee. Ending the encounter quickly would only further their survival. The creeper growled once again. _Not good…_

"Leon!" Sheva screamed over the shots of her handgun. She needed back up. Now. If the roof was lost, so was their evac. Swiveling on his knee, Leon turned to her, ignoring the mutate infectees. The knife went back to its sheath. The regular infectees were mere paces away from her now. In a matter of moments she would be over come. The handgun was replaced at his side.

"Sheva!" Leon called to her, his iced over legs screamed as he forced them to move. The creeper behind him screamed again, its high-pitched voice ringing clear over the generic moans of hunger from the regular infectees. _Not good. Not good_. They needed to fall back and reassess the situation, but he wasn't going to make it in time… he wasn't going to make it to Sheva in time… His breath came in cold, gushing down his throat like Siberian medicine. The cold arrested his lungs, making breathing a painful experience. His half melted boots sank clumsily in the snow as his legs screamed in pain. Faster. He needed to go faster. They were going to eat her. Sheva was going to die. The infectee horde was clawing its way towards Sheva. She was backing up one step at a time, giving up ground, but this was a rooftop. There was no ground to give up. It was a story he'd seen countless times. This roof was a death sentence. They'd known that upon entering the building. _Goddamn it. Goddamn it all to hell. _

A crack of thunder sounded. So close it felt as if it had been launched against his temple. The infectees were thrown off Sheva in a wave of snow and infected blood. They piled upon each other in an uncoordinated mess of limbs and mucous as the silver lightening snapped back, retreating to its origin. Next to Sheva stood a figure clad in a long dark winter jacket, the owner of the silver chain whip. The snow surrounding them highlighted the dark contrast of the long coat. A snarling infectee rose to its feet, lunging for it.

Coolly, with a high heeled foot that emerged from the depths of the long coat, the person kicked infectee, sending it sprawling. Black infection spewed from a hole in the infectees chest, sprinkling the ground with black. A long knife slid out from the figure's sleeve and he or she proceed to lope off the better portion of an infectee's head. Surprised, Sheva glanced over to the woman. She hesitated for only a moment before returning fire upon the horde.

_Who the hell is-_ Stumbling mid-stride, Leon fell face forward into the snow. His left ankle was bound with an all too familiar rope like tongue. Rolling to his back, Leon reached for the knife again. The tongue mutate screamed, pulling him in twice as fast as it had previously. Snarling, Leon cut the tongue as second time, freeing himself. The gun was in his hands and fired off before he consciously registered reaching for it. With out a sound, the tongue mutate fell to its side, green gasses expelling from the bullet wounds in its forehead.

"Leon!" Sheva shouted. Rolling to his knees, once more Leon spun. This time his gun wasn't ready quick enough. The creeping mutate from before was lunging at him. It collided with him, forcing him onto his side. The creature's claws were digging into his body, his back screamed in pain as bony talons cut through Kevlar armor and skin. _Sonofabitch_! He was better than this. The added weight pushed his body into the snow even as he fended of the creature with an Arm. His blood ran rivulets down the back of his neck,

A silver blade jackknifed through the creatures neck, ripping both himself and the creature up into the air. Around his waist a delicate leg gripped at his hip, pulling space between himself and the creeper mutate. A hand was around his neck, nails digging in there lightly. Startled by the fleeting feel of breast pressing against his chest, the long coat figure leaned forward clinging to him. Her arm blade drove downward opening a gaping hole from the neck to stomach. In the infectee's mouth, a familiar dark green Easter egg had been planted.

In one fluid movement, she had peeled the mutate from his person and repelled it. With a flick the mutate stumbled backwards several feet, towards the edge of the roof. Dark blood leaked from the open wound. Spinning on one grounded foot, grinding against him, they both hit the ground. The mutate exploded as it fell over the edge of the building. Bits of skull and bone fragments hurtled through the air coupled with cement fragments and snow. Leon's back screamed at the sudden pressure against the wounds.

Sighing the woman pushed off of him. Blinking he stared at her. _That's one way to say hello…_ Emotionless green eyes studied him. A red scarf covered the rest of her face yet. The corner of the eyes crinkled, as if she had smiled at him. Her eyes were dead though. A cold glassy green that held no warmth. He knew that kind of look. Only dangerous woman had that in their eyes. Getting to her knees and then her feet, she cocked her head and took him in as he laid sprawled out in the snow. Green-eyed woman got to her feet.

"Leon," Sheva was jogging towards them, "Are you alright?" Sheva glanced to her before offering him a hand. He took it, shrugging off the pain. He was loosing his edge. He nodded his appreciation before turning to the newcomer.

"Thanks for the support. Mind telling me what's going on here?"

"You're questioning me?" the hooded woman's voice was muffled from the scarf. However, she pointed to the horde stumbling towards them. "Are you sure you could have handled that?" Next she pointed to himself and Sheva. "You wouldn't happen to have seen a friend of mine? Kain. He's old," her voice was throaty. "Long white hair and pale skin."

"Never heard of him," Sheva said, "do you have a picture?" The hood shook its head.

"You would know it if you had met him." Sheva glanced to him, eyes questioning.

"No idea be to be honest. If he survived long enough to be extracted, he might be safe and secure at our medical treatment facility. This place is going to be sanitized soon. We've got standing orders to take any survivors with us," Leon glanced warily between the red head, Sheva and the slowly reemerging horde.

"As you wish," she gestured now towards the sky and the searchlight of the nearing helicopter. "Is that our exit plan then?"

"Yes," Leon retorted. "Provided we out live the next fifteen minutes." Wincing, he took a step forward. Those words had been less than comforting, but the pain at his back was making it hard to concentrate. "I'm Leon S. Kennedy. This is Sheva."

"You're bleeding," Sheva said, her eyes going wide.

"You're not infected," the red head said, a small smirk still on her mouth. "Not yet anyways." Creepy ass chick, but help was help and they need all the help they could get.

"I know," he replied, attempting to sound matter of fact. Truth was he knew it could be a death sentence. He placed his last clip into his handgun. "We've got two minutes left until evac pick up. _They_ are not going to wait that long." He gestured to the horde slowly climbing over the piles of their brethren. "What's your name?" He demanded, turning to the red head.

"Rayne."

"That was pretty good knife work," He nodded to the blades on her arms. "I owe you my life."

"You can pay it off later," Rayne purred, her voice soft. "It'll be a date." A heavy knife slide out from the sleeve of her long coat once again. It was coated in black fluids. Rayne smirked at him, catching his glance. Leon wondered at the reappearing eye crinkle. Her mouth and most of her face was still obscured by the scarf. Did this woman fully understand the situation she was in? Her attitude reminded him of someone...it was as if she could take on the entire city filled with infectees and not have a concern in the world… Not responding to her, Leon began once again to take pot shots at the infectees. They just needed to hold out long enough. The chopper was on its way…the sound of the twirling blades were so close…


	45. The Horde

And I don't care what you think  
Because you didn't think to care about me

And I don't understand what happened between you and me but

… … …  
You were blind to me, now I'm blind to you

-The Moment, Safteysuit

**Lauren**

I was panting, my breath coming in heavy gasps as my feet pounded against the ground. Vaulting over the hood of one of a mangled four-car pile up, I landed and kept going. Beside me, Vergil growled, that flaming broad sword in his hand yet. The bastard was pacing me, nowhere near as out of breath as I was. He shot me a glare as I came to halt in the middle of an intersection. My heart was pounding in my chest. Beyond the frantic pounding I listened uneasily to the sounds of a giant wall of necrofied flesh making their way towards us like hellhounds. We were surrounded on all sides from the dead who had answered the three-headed necrobastard's call several blocks ago. _Epicenter. Yeehaw. _

"Just had to kill the fucker using our ride didn't you?" I snapped at Vergil. My batman t-shirt and the striped arm warmers were not cut out for winter cold. I'd also taken a black hat and scarf. The new sports bra was tighter than the last one. I didn't know If I was burning up or freezing. The exposed parts of my arms were freezing. My finger were still there…I think. Sweat trickled down my back, soaking into the black t-shirt.

Running from a horde is damn near impossible, like a tsunami, it was only a matter of time before the violent tide overwhelmed us. I was starting to understand why Dante had gotten bitten in the first place. Normally, I wouldn't have chosen to run, but any city is going to be filled with millions of necros. A singular zombie maybe easily dealt with, but thousands upon thousands…I didn't plan on being anyone's square meal. Vergil nearly cut me in half with that damn new flaming toy of his when I suggested that we hightail it. It kills Mr. Personality to admit I may have been right. He ended up killing the last screamer with a very expensive hijacked car and a lot of fire.

"Putrid creatures," Vergil growled. Flames came to life, licking the metal of his demon arm. The tip of his sword brushed the ground, melting the ice there. The dead were in sight, nearly two blocks away and approaching at a flat out run. We found ourselves in the middle of a four way stop. From all sides, the horde of was closing in. Their glazed-over, milky eyes were wide with want and hunger. Their mouths were carnivorous holes. I took a deep breathing, stilling the hammer in my chest. Vergil was taking in the same sight, smiling like a clown escapee from hell's circus. He was as happy as a cat with warm milk. Mr. Personality probably thought this was fun. _Sick fuck. _

"Why are you saying that with a grin?" I growled at him, side stepping. So many were infected. Broken down cars flooded the street, silent wreckage in the absence of human life. I took another deep breath, bringing down jackhammer throb in my chest to a hummingbird hum. They were half a block away already. _Fucking stitches…_ I readied Agni and Rudra, pulling them free from their sheaths. Back to back Vergil and I braced ourselves against the wave of corroding human flesh and open hungry mouths.

"Are you afraid Lauren?" Vergil asked coolly, his back to mine.

"Who the fuck do you think I am?" I retorted. I could see the waning, glossed over whites of eyes of the first line of dead heads. Their eyes looked like white marbles covered over with black ghostly clouds from this distance. Yellowed crooked, cracked teeth and faces with torn cheeks or missing ears crushed together to consume us. Two against thousands, even a moron will tell you those odds suck. I fell into a defensive stance. Vergil chuckled.

"Don't disappoint me, Little Lauren. You owe me several favors yet, if I recall." _Favors?_ Telling him to fuck off does not count as a favor. _I could murder him in his sleep._

"Try to keep up princess," I snapped. The first wave of dead heads slammed into us. Vergil and I moved to counter them. I hugged myself, with agni and rudra arching around my body until their tips dug into my shoulder blades. Summoning my aura, I pour my all into the next attack. This next move would make or break us. I brought both blades forward, their edges ground together as touched briefly. Mini-sparks from the blow were mere precursors to the wall of flames that erupted from twin demon swords. In a moment I was warmed by a crushing wave of hell flame, fanning outward to embrace the dead.

Agni and Rudra roared, flaring to life with a will of their own. Rudra's red-hot flame was pushed along Agni's insistent gusts. Hell on earth broke loose as a wall of fire charred the concrete about me a deep black pushing outwards towards the encroaching hoard. The zitches-the dumb bastards they are-ran into the flames, their dried out husks of skin lighting up like kindling. Snow melted, creating sizzling puddles on the ground. Whatever glass was in place before the attack shattered, raining havoc onto the now flailing human torches. As the flame reached stranded vehicles, more explosions rocked the street, creating craters of zombie paste. _Chew on that, pricks. _Panting, I put my hands on my knees. Blood was draining from my face and my heart began its jackhammer dance once again. I over used my aura. I could feel a wariness I hadn't felt before. I was lightheaded. The feeling would pass shortly, with any luck.

"Is that all?" Vergil commented wryly. "I expected better." I spun to face him, the flames of Angi and Rudra warming my backside. I didn't get a chance to say something. Instead I was put in my place. I remembered, once again, that Vergil was the descendant of a demonic warlord. His counter was something I may never have the skill to pull off.

He reacted, as I had, but not before the zombies were closer. You could see their oozing cysts and bite wounds-could smell them even-before Vergil acted. With a single side sweep, a tongue of flames stretched out from him in every direction. It was a quick move. Those who didn't know what to look for would never have guessed that he had made a move to begin with. Many of the zombies crumbled to the ground, momentum making them crash to their knees before hitting the concrete with a soft, fleshy _thunk_. Wave upon wave of them, fell, lining the streets with unmoving bodies. Every one of them from the neck up, had nothing more than scalded stumps of melted flesh. Between the two of us, the first wave of the horde had been eliminated.

"You're calling me a fool?" I demand. Vergil half turned to me, an expectant expression on his face. "You do the same damn move every damn time, but I'm a fool." I gave Vergil the bird and a very ugly look. _Asshole_. "Go rock a concrete dildo." Vergil raises an eyebrow.

An all too familiar scream filled the air. Many voices rose to sound like one. It was another goddamn zombie call to arms. Where was the necro master? _How are these bastards doing this_? I swore under my breath. Time to move.

"The pick up point is half an hour away. We need to move," I said. "At this rate we're not going to be able to collect anything."

"You need to move," Vergil corrected me. "These humans barely concern me." Whatever. I rolled my eyes but said nothing. Technically, he was right. Vergil didn't need any assistance getting himself out of trouble. Turning I took a few jogging steps before warming up into a flat out sprint. Vergil was a moment in following me.

"Hey," I called over to him, winded. "What is the tally now? After that Horde?"

"It could be considered an equal victory." Point for point, I could deal with that.

"Equal Victory?". Sounded about right. "So then what?"

"330."

"Fuck you," I snapped back. "296." Vergil only gave me an icy smirk.

"Any one thing I want, eh little Lauren?"

I came to halt several moments latter. We had just sprinted ten to twelve blocks, but that wasn't the reason I had stopped. It was weird. There had been a zombie call to arms, but so far, nothing but already dead zombies. Shouldn't there have been another wave of zeds by now?

"Lauren," Vergil growled, giving me the 'dead human' look, "I should warn you that trying to kill me twice with the same method is very foolish." I gave him an ugly look. He was annoyed and getting impatient. I hissed at him.

"We have time," I growled.

"What little of it that you haven't wasted." Vergil retorted. The city was going to be wiped out, but we had time. In any case, that impending explosion wasn't what was bothering me. In my gut, I could feel it. Whatever was coming, it wasn't a horde. What the hell? Were these dumb nut stitches actually…evolving?

"Vergil, there should have been a horde by now. You know that, you heard the call. I think something's com-"

I should have seen it coming. Vergil's face didn't really give anything away. The end of the world could happen twice over and Vergil wouldn't bat an eyelash. However his attention shifted, for a fraction of a second before it happened. That was my warning. The only one I got.

Big and hard and strong and angry, it screamed like a banshee. I jumped, reacting to the sound of screeching, deforming metal before I ever saw it coming. Large and red, it slammed into me with the force of a freight train, crushing me into the ground as it skidded across asphalt like a stone skipping across water. Together me and the red thing bashed into the side of a law firm building, creating a new crater.

The worst part was being conscious for the entire duration of it.

My jaw broke upon impact, three of my ribs snapping like dry twigs. My pelvic bone was obliterated. End over end I flipped, caught in a spin cycle, until it ended in a flash of dust, rubble and contorted pieces of brick and metal. Something somewhere roared in an all too human like voice. _Fuck fuck fuck! _My vision flickered, on the verge of blackness. I gasped for breath, feeling the gentle caress of death at the edge of my consciousness. Between a rock and a hard place I laid, half sitting half falling. _I hurt I hurt I hurt I hurt oh god I hurt why are my toes touching the back of my calves? Fuck. _Dizzy, I closed my eyes, bile rising up my throat. _What just happened?_

Blackness, waves undulating about me, that heartbeat sound filling my ears. Death. I know this place. Lud-thud, lud-thud, a busy phone signal, waves crashing far over head as I sink into an endless quagmire, a riddle of what is to be and what will never be. An endless spin cycle with me caught in the middle, a tornado ticking off granules of sand in life's hourglass. Death is confusion for those not ready and unwilling to accept it. Systole, diastole, the pulsing through life's veins, the thing that keeps the eternal cycle going. Life, death and rebirth, yet Oblivion creeps in slowly through an open back door. A gentle voice whispered to me: _not yet, not yet, its not your turn yet_. I know that voice, my own personal guardian and tormentor. _Loki._

For a moment there, I thought I had died.

The first breath was painful. My lungs struggled to push against a broken, half caved rib cage. The second breath hurt as much as the first, but it was easier. I could feel my ribs healing. I winced opening bruised, swollen eyes as my ribs snapped into place. Its painful, the advanced healing process, even more so to be conscious when the healing is occurring within your body.

The bone of my arm had punctured my flesh. Gritting my bloodied teeth fragments and gums together, I yanked hard on my wrist with the three non-broken fingers of my other hand. It worked. The bone slides through the hole, blood oozing out in its place. Stabbing white, hot pin pricks burn at the wound as the bone knits itself together again. I take a third breath, taking in my current condition for the first time.

The back of my head hurts. I'm willing to bet the dizzy feeling and vertigo are harbingers of a healing brain bruise. Concussions sucks, even more so if your life's blood is oozing through your hair and down your neck. A compacted, tin can of a car pins me to a shattered building corner. I'm wedged between the sidewalk, car and building. Beyond, I see a built brown mass Hulk-wannabe swinging a mailbox sized fist as Vergil.

Just like at the mall, this one has enough muscles to make a body builder ashamed. In fact this one kinda puts the other one to shame. Its arms are easily bigger than most tree trunks, and its waist is thicker than a trash can. No wonder my ass was kissing cement. _That fuck threw a goddamn car at me._ _A fucking mini-van!_

My right ankle snapped, little bones cracking into place. I ignore the tear forming at the corner of my eye and concentrated on taking deep breaths. More painful yet was the heat growing at my hips. It felt as if a red hot polker was being jammed repeatedly into my abdomen and jiggled around a bit until it mashed into my pelvic bones. I whimpered, oh-so-quietly, to myself. I've never been so wounded before and survived it. Nor have I ever healed this fast. Both my knee caps crack back into place and I wonder why the bile in the back of my throat has paid the ground a visit yet.

The brown Hulk roars. Blinking, I returned my attention to Vergil. Vergil could easily dodge the necro's attacks. I watched as he rolled to the side, avoiding the juggernauts headlong charge. Recoiling, the Hulk turned, roaring and following Verigl with a near single-minded fury. Hulk's fists slam into the concrete throwing a shower of cement into the air and making the ground vibrate. Vergil countered. He was airborne, that flaming heavy sword in hand. The blade sliced through the meaty muscle of the necro as Vergil came to a halt, several paces past the Hulk. Flames licked the air between the two of them, evaporating into nothingness. Vergil recovered from his stance, half turning to the necro. The massive beast didn't move, nor make a sound. I turned my attention away from the two of them. More necros will be coming.

I pushed against the crumpled door of the SUV that smooked me. The car whined, its dragging bumper screaming as it ground against pavement. The vehicle didn't move. I groaned. My legs were still crushed underneath the car's weight. Leaning forward, I pushed again. My arms cried out against the abuse. The effects of overworking my aura twice in the same evening were beginning to show face. A draining, lethargic feeling was deadening my limbs into lead weights. The car gave a begrudging inch, pulverizing my flesh in the process. _You mother, move your metal ass! _In the back of my mouth, a new molar pushed up through the ragged bloody flesh of my gums. 

Around my butt a puddle of black yellow fluids gathered. The sweet smell of gas was making me faint. I needed to get out of this. I panted, struggling to breath as my ribs continue to mend. I could feel a flimsy weakness in my sternum that wasn't there previously. It was possible that my sternum was shattered upon impact as well_. Fuckin' soccer moms and their SUVs. _Bracing myself again, palms flat against the sharp shattered plexi plastic and metal, I began to push at the car one more time.

This time the car gave. Actually. To be technical about it, it flew across the street. The tip of Vergil's sword pointed skyward, his arm outstretched overhead. The van hit a nearby light pole, snapping it in half and caving in yet another parked car as it landed on it. _Did he just flip a car with his damn sword?_ The light pole came crashing down, raining glass and shattering the windshield of a stalled out car across the street. Vergil glared at me, the broad sword falling to his side. I've yet to see the bastard shoulder a sword. The cold air chilled my lungs as I tore my gaze away from his.

Blinking, I took in the sight of my ruined legs. My left foot literally bends backwards to the point that the toes touch the back of my thigh. I closed my eyes for a moment. Blood was seeping out of metal frag wounds. Chunks of the car literally exploded and embedded themselves in the wound, my right knee is a perfect example. A metal fragment slice literally sits between my kneecap and the rest of the joint. The pain was maddening. I took a breath, pushing back bile. I close my eyes against it all. Again. God that's a lot to take in. In situations like this, it isn't uncommon for the wounded to be left for dead. In nature, its survival of the fittest. It wouldn't be the first time Vergil has left me to die.

Some one grabbed my arm roughly. My eyes snapped open.

"_What the hell?" _I demanded, my voice was wet and horse_. _Vergil chuckled. It was his eyes shut me up, not his laughter. God his eyes were scary. He squatted next to me, the hem of that fine black jacket absorbing the gasoline and oil like a sponge. An electric current flowed through his hand as his fingertips dug into my arm, pinching the pressure point there. _Why does he always go for the fleshy weak spots?_ However, that strange feeling only increases as he tightens his grip on my arm. _What is that? It feels warm even through the arm warmer…_ It is hard to explain exactly what it felt like.

As I was watched, my legs healed themselves, faster than my ribs had. My right hip snapped as the bone fell into place. The feeling of the current was overwhelming, as if it was being poured into me, like a valve turned on full throttle. The source of it was endless and dark and extremely powerful. Commanding almost, as if it has a will of its own.

Instinctively I listened to the foreign authority. The strange, seeping influence squeezed into the more extensive of injuries, flushing out the weakness and spurring the healing process. In a matter of moments my legs were fully healed, my pelvic bone was completely remade. It hurt like hell, but I was healing. The molars in the back of my mouth re-grew and my jaw snapped back into place._ Is this Vergil's Aura? Is he giving me his aura to speed up the healing process? _

"Get to your feet," Vergil said sharply, his eyes narrowed. "You've gotten lazy, Lauren. We'll have to remedy that." It's been ten minutes since the hulk jumped us, yet I was able to stand when Vergil forced me to my feet. My balance wavered for a moment. The newness of my body was weird, a light springy feeling. Vergil let go, his hand falling from my arm. With it, the electric current died as well. I was cut off from that wellspring of energy. _Was that huge dark thing Vergil's aura? Is he really holding back that much? …. …. …. …. Fuck me if he is._

Dizzy yet, I reached out and grabbed the fabric of Vergil's sleeve. He raised an eyebrow, but otherwise didn't say anything. I blinked, silent, rubbing my forehead for a moment. Vergil didn't wait long. Shaking me off, he continued through the intersection at an easy pace. Past the snapped light pole and the black pool of the severed in half, brown hulk. After a moment I followed him as best as I was able. My boots made clumsy footsteps in comparison to his noiseless panther paces. I shook my head to clear it. _I think I may have a concussion of some sort. _


	46. Team Elite: CJ Style

Only two chapters this time around, but its a total of 15 pages. Enjoy.

* * *

**Hunnigan**

**Colorado Base of Operations Technical Support**

"Ma'am, we're picking up an unknown thermal signature." The growing red hydra spread out over the monitor, flooding several blocks with seemingly red liquid ooze of magma. Mentally she did some rough scale calculations. The thermal signature covered the better part of a quarter square mile. Hunnigan leaned forward, not batting an eyelash.

"Location?"

"Down town, near last known mission coordinates of Star and Vergil."

"Last known coordinates?"

"Team Charlie's location is unknown. Their GPS locators are experiencing technical difficulties. Most likely due to the thermal signature."

"Which other operatives do we have in the vicinity?"

"Operatives Star and Vergil appear to be at the center of the thermal reading. Operatives Redfield and Valentine are nearest, by several miles. Redfield and Valentine are en route to extraction point. Operatives Leon and Sheva have been extracted."

"Do we have satellite on Star and Vergil?"

"Roger that." The image on the monitor zoomed in. At the center of the magma red ooze, two lone figures stood in a four way stop. Their images were grainy, but unmistakable. Back to back they stood, eyes seemingly watching the slowly evaporating flames.

"Do we know what caused this?"

"No ma'am. It," the analysis operative hesitated, unsure of how to continue, "the thermal signature had an unknown origin." That was an understatement in Hunnigan's opinion.

"Continue to observe and record Star and Vergil's movements. Report any continued abnormal readings immediately."

"Yes ma'am."

"What is the status of operatives Redfield and Valentine?"

"Operatives have reported successful mission completion. They are now fifteen minutes from their designated extraction point."

"Good. Patch me in to their com lines."

"Yes ma'am."

**Field Operative: Chris**

**Status: Operative Located-En route to extraction point**

**GPS: Tracking now…establishing secure connection…**

**Beginning Live Audio Transmission Feed:**

"I repeat: This is Chris Redfield reporting mission update. Mission objective obtained. Team bravo to head to extraction point. All hostiles have been neutralized. No communication has been re-established with Alpha team or Charlie Team. Requesting confirmation of extraction point."

"Chris, this is mission support, Hunnigan. Alpha team has reached designated evacuation location. We are awaiting your arrival at extraction point. New mission parameters have been set. Escourt evac team, secure operatives Star and Vergil by any means necessary. Do you accept?"

"Hunnigan, repeat new parameters?" Even over the link, the strain was evident in his voice. The man had been at this kind of work for as long as she had. They both knew the inherent risks field operatives ran in a biohazard environment. Hunnigan took a breath. It made her stomach churn to do this, but it was necessary. Losing two potential inoculation sources would be foolhardy. Which is exactly why she had paired Valentine and Redfield together. She was counting on their bond as long time partners to keep them both alive.

"New mission parameters have been set. Repeat. Bravo Team is to support evac team and secure Charlie team by any means necessary. Do you accept?"

… … … … … The sounds of rapid gunfire could be heard. Occasionally field agent Jill could be heard over the crackling com line.

"Come in Bravo Team. Respond."

"Bravo here. Revised Mission parameters understood."

"Affirmative. Good luck Bravo. Hunnigan out."

**End Live Audio Transmission Feed. **

**Chris**

**Twin Cities, en route to extraction point**

He took a breath, hesitating. Underfoot snow squeaked and his numb limbs barely registered the microscopic give of the fluff. Jill moved off to his right, slowly stalking down the street. She moved along the side of a car, careful to never offset the delicate balance of snowflakes gathering along the car's side window. Her blond hair trickled down her back in a long pony tale, caught in a small sigh of wind and tangled with white. Jill knelt, taking a knee at the rear wheel. The bulk of her body was hidden behind the car. Her breath came in white clouds.

The world was still, waiting in quiet anticipation with them. It was a coin toss as to whether or not the last gunshots would draw more infected to their location. The last three infected lay not more than thirty feet down the road, congealing in puddles of their own insides. Sixty seconds dragged by like a decade. Only the sound of falling snow-gently rustling against slick concrete surfaces-could be heard.

At his waist, his cell phone buzzed, vibrating. He nearly jumped out of his skin. Stilling the muscle twitches, he reached for the small hand held. Jill glanced over to him, her black combat suit spotted with falling flakes. The location of their new extraction point popped up on the screen.

"We've got a new extraction point." His voice came out hushed. He tossed the cell to Jill. She nodded, taking in the location.

"That's not far from here."

"We've got fifteen minutes left before evac. Thirty minutes before sanitation," He replied, catching the cell as she tossed it back. Jill shouldered her AK, rising to both feet. She took out her handgun and began a steady advance down the street. Chris took up the slack, taking the right side of the road. So far the two survivors they'd run across had been systematically eaten by infectees, and in turn, risen as infectees themselves. Their last pleading screams as humans still rung in his ears. They'd come across the man of forty five-Dan-and a young woman-Crystal Burgendale-when shifting through the remains of an apartment building. Dan and Crystal had been traveling together, making their way to safety with nothing more than a metal baseball bat and a crowbar when Jill and himself had come across them.

For a while things had worked out. Dan and Crystal took up the slack while Jill and himself took care of the infectees and sample gathering. Then not more then twenty minutes ago, they'd crossed four lanes of highway. A car alarm had gone off, reeling in every infectee within hearing distance. The horde had amassed far more quickly that he or Jill had anticipated.

Dan had been dragged off first by the infectees. He had screamed, his fingers digging into the snow as he slid across the ground towards a waiting horde. His nails made dark tributaries as they scrabbled at the ice-slicked road. The infected who had grabbed him possessed an elongated tongue, a viral mutated infectee. Crystal had gone-despite his and Jill's warnings-to save Dan. The viral mutate was the first to die, but Crystal was next to follow it.

Her face had shown brilliantly in the night, eyes wide in terror, screaming with an out streached hand emerging from a feast horde. Her brilliant blue eyes had pleaded with him, even as her voice was cut off into a whimper, pink nail polish gleaming in the darkness. The horde finished her, tearing out her throat, and left her to soak in the snow in a steaming puddle.

He knew the strength of the infected's jaw had crushed her windpipe. He knew, medically speaking, she had gone into shock when the horde had begun to feed off of her-if not from mental trauma then from sheer blood loss. He knew that her screams had been nothing more than hysterical incoherence towards the end. None of these 'facts' did much in the way of justifying Crystal or Dan's infection. Or his own carelessness at setting off the car alarm in the first place.

Blood had been running down the side of her neck, oozing from her left ear, as Crystal disappeared beneath a wave of infected limbs. The shine in her eyes, her open mouth and smooth lines of shock on her face, he remembered the exact details of them. When the infectees were done with the two of them, there had been nothing more that a large inky smear left over on the snow. Her face-when she rose as an infected-was mutilated beyond recognition. The wet bones of her nose were left to the elements, red and glistening. Once curly brunette hair hung in limp, dirty tresses, clotted over with blood. Her teeth were visible through a hole eaten out of her-

"Chris!" Jill's voice was a whip crack, wrenched him back to the present. He realized he was standing stock still, knee deep in a snow bank, sweating and panting as if he had run miles. He was squeezing his shotgun between both hands, even as he shook. He swallowed, feeling his mouth go dry.

"Contact! Chris!" Jill shouted again. Blinking, he scanned the road automatically, looking without actually seeing. Several infectees lurched towards them. Five in all. His hands gripped the shot gun dumbly and his voice came rustling out of his throat, emerging from its hibernation.

"Contact," he reconfirmed hoarsely. "Use your silencer." Jill didn't bother responding. She'd already equipped her silencer. She dropped the two closest infectees as Chris fumbled for his own silencer and his handgun. Two more shots, and the next two fell to the ground, unmoving. The silencer was nearly on, the shot gun stowed at his shoulder. Jill dropped the final infectee. She scanned the area as he finished with the silencer.

"Area clear."

"Right," he replied dully, keeping the handgun at ready. Sharply Jill turned to face him. The harsh yellowed light of the street lamp threw her face into high contrast. She said nothing for a long moment. The gaze said it all. They'd been partners for years, he knew what she was saying even when she wasn't speaking. Those blue eyes read him like a book. Wordlessly, she turned away giving him the minute privacy he needed to get it back together. He shook his head, clearing it. Carefully Jill approached the latest batch of fallen infectees.

"Chris," her voice was soft, but urgent. She bent over the infectee, pulling back on the creature's mouth.

"What is that?" he asked, approaching her. Taking the flashlight from his belt, he squatted next to Jill.

"The canines," she pulled what was left of the cheek back. "They're overdeveloped. You wouldn't find teeth this size in a human jaw. That's more like something you'd find in larger predatory animal. Maybe a cougar or grizzly bear." Flicking out a pocket knife, she cut away the skin of the infectee's cheek. "Both of them are over developed." With the tip of the knife she tilted the infectee's head. It flopped, turning over like a lead weight. Easily she pushed the infectee's chin up, skewering it on the knife tip to expose the neck. "These bite marks, look at the wounds. There are sharp indents where the canines would be." Jill clamped a hand over the bite wound in question. She placed a gloved finger in each tooth hole. Her pinky and pointer fingers lined up perfectly with gouging holes of the canine's. Her middle and ring fingers served to illustrate the spaces were the two front teeth would have been. "I didn't see anything like this on our earlier sample infectees."

"You're saying this virus-or the spread of it-has nothing to do with the one that was encountered in Arizona."

"Exactly. Not only that, this virus has evolved in the short time it took to travel across this city. There was no mention of overdeveloped canines in any of the infectees as a means of contagion deployment in Leon's last report. In the Arizona case, the contagion was projectile, often in the form of-"

"Tossing their infected cookies," Chris finished for her. "That means this virus had almost nothing to do with the virus in Arizona and its twice as volatile. Which would make sense with all the strange infectees we've been seeing. I'll check the other two infected over there. Let's try to establish a pattern. If this happens to be the case, we'll collect samples as needed."

"Roger that." Jill already had her pliers out. She was going to collect samples either way. Chris turned his back to her as the sound of metal on bone crunched in the quiet night air. Taking out his own knife, he peeled back the lips of the second slain infectee. Over developed canine teeth. The jaw muscles themselves were overdeveloped as well. Added jaw strength and overdeveloped canines…. Black coated the canines of both the second and third slain infectees. They had nearly identical bite wounds as the first covering their bodies.

"These guys are like spiders," he said suddenly, rising to his feet. "They bite an uninfected."

"The contagion spreads via the canines and a healthy dose of saliva," Jill finished, rising as well. She held a fang between her gloved fingers, "The teeth actually secrete some kind of fluid." Chris snapped a photo of is as Jill sealed a biohazardus baggie she was stuffing into their sample collections bag. She shouldered the backpack.

"not only are the teeth overdeveloped, so are their jaw muscles," He replied, poking at the infectee. In a few seconds he'd taken photographs of the bite wounds, one photo per each of the five slain infectees. Hunnigan would probably send them to be analyzed by the lab technicians. The flash of the cell phone was a silent testament to the newest discovery they had made.

If there was a connection between the two viruses, it would mean that the two different outbreaks were the results of two different branches of research. Perhaps two different branches of research on the same virus, but at this point, it would be hard to tell. The T virus was now almost entirely wiped clean from the face of the earth. It had been replaced by Uroburos and the Progenerator virus, developed by the late Wesker's twisted mind. However, whatever this was, it looked like a different version of the T virus. Perhaps the T virus hadn't been wiped from the face of the earth as previously thought. If someone had done independent research and developed a new mutated version of the T virus… Normally it took years of research to develop and weaponize a virus. With so little time delay between the two outbreaks, it was reasonable to assume the viruses and their development were linked in some manner.

"We have ten minutes left," Jill said, interrupting his train of thought. Chris stowed the cell phone and flashlight. He'd known they hadn't needed to waste time like this. The sweat that had gathered at his neck was cooling. He could breath without the air shaking in his lungs. The new samples would help the eggheads with research, but they hadn't been necessary. Not with the photos. He couldn't hear anything other than the falling snow now. Couldn't hear Crystal and Dan's pleads for help. Their silenced voices had gone to join the thousands of others he'd heard over the years.

"We'd better get moving," Chris replied, taking up his handgun one more time. "They're going to need this." Jill cast him one more subtle, knowing glance. Her blue eyes never wavered. A sigh of wind caught her corn silk hair, teasing it across her face. It was a little known fact, but she still couldn't handle the face that stared back at her in a mirror. She'd burst into tears every morning for the first five months after her three-year interment as Wesker's guinea pig. Her clearance for this mission was mainly due to the fact that she qualified as an 'acceptable casualty'. Whatever remnants of the T virus that had recombined with the progenerator virus made her immune system no laughing matter. She was allowed outside today-for the first time in a couple of months-simply because it made no difference if she survived or not. Lauren Star had replaced her as a scientific toy.

Despite all this, or more likely because of it, they were partners through thick and thin. The need for communication was minimal at best. Jill took a deep breath.

"Roger that." She followed his lead. They had three blocks left before they hit their extraction point. _No more nightmares_, he sent the prayer heavenward, despite his self proclaimed status of agnostic hood. _No more_.


	47. Misson Complete

I'm numb to you-numb and deaf and blind

You give me all but the reason why

Try to forget you

But without you I feel nothing

Don't leave me here by myself

-Farther Away, Evanescence

**Lor**

The sounds of the undead hitting the ground were wet and moist in a way I didn't want to think about. _Why the hell are we hacking dead heads apart in the middle of goddamn zombie nation?_ I kicked, feeling a new kind of strength in my leg that hadn't been there since the Mall of America. Vergil's little aura battery stunt hadn't just sped up my regenerative abilities. It had kicked my reflexes in the proverbial seat and added that much more spice to my physical attributes.

"Goddamn," I roared, surprised as a zed's drooling mouth slammed down on Rudra's blade. Two black drooling vampire like fangs hung onto Rudra while red black eyes glared at me. I'd barely gotten the blade into place on time, despite Vergil's aura humming in my veins. These zombies were faster, beefier versions of the wimps we'd seen at the mall. The zed's bottom jaw closed around Rurda, even as the blade started to etch a clear line through its teeth. How did the creature have a jaw like that? Rudra was easily five inches wide. The stitch wanted to eat the blade if it meant eating me. I jerked the serrated part of the blade upwards, cutting through upper gums and nose. The 'sample' fell off the zombie's face with spray of black. With a heel I booted the stitch in the face hard enough to snap its spine. Reaching down I plucked up the fangs, gums and all. _What the hell is this?_ _Zombies with fangs? They didn't have those before…_

I turned to Vergil, zombie fangs in hand. He drew forward with his sword, sending a stitch sky high. As it tumbled through the air like a rag doll, Vergil spun the blade twisting the sword pommel in his hand. The effect was the same as a large helicopter blade or meat grinder. Gravity pulled the stitch right into the waiting blender. The air was thick with zombie as Vergil sliced the zed into meat wads. That sucker wasn't coming back. Around us laid mountains of slain dead heads. I never thought I'd see the day when dead bodies surrounding Vergil would be a plus.

"What the fuck are these?" I demanded as Vergil pulled the broad sword free from the concrete and the infected meat wads. He glanced to me. "These aren't…._fangs_…right?" I asked, raising an eyebrow. "_Vampires_ have fangs. _Dogs_ have fangs. _Cats_ have fangs," I said. "_Cannibal bears_ have fangs. _Zombies_ don't have fangs."

"Fangs?" Vergil mused, as he turned away. "Should it matter what they have or don't have? They're dead now and their kind will be extinct within the hour." With a sigh I glanced around. _Maybe this would count as a sample? Hunnigan couldn't complain if I brought this back right?_ Ripping the shirt off a slain infected I wrapped the zombie fangs up and tied it to a belt loop on my pants. I used the rest of the shirt to wipe my hands off.

"Excuse me, but Lancelot doesn't care?" I snorted. "That's BS and I know it." I bent down, poking at the mouth bits of the zeds Vergil and I had just finished off. "Jesus Vergil, they all have'em. Every single one of'em. What the hell?" I glanced up. Vergil paused, crossing his arms and cocking his head to the side. He wore a 'stupid human' expression. I blinked. _Oh don't tell me….seriously…._

"You dick, what do you know," I snapped, rising to my feet. "I know that look. What aren't you telling me?" A slow honey smirk tweaked Vergil's mouth.

"You were one third right. Your skills of observation are improving."

" 'One third right?' " I demanded impatiently.

"Vampires have fangs. Apparently, so do these welps." I stood still, absorbing that. _Vampires have fangs_.

"Noooo," I said, hearing disbelief drain away the impatience. "No way. Vampire zombies? Are you fucking kidding me? That's the stuff of b rated horror movies."

"Putting aside the fact that we're not stars of a horror film, I would say its very plausible," Vergil said in a bored tone. He waved a hand to include the greater number of dead about us. "You should know better Lauren." He's right, I do. If there could be zombie demons, why wouldn't there be zombie vampires? Was it really that big of a leap for a high contagious virus? _Probs not._

"The obvious isn't the point, Lancelot." I step over the dead, closer to Vergil. "What I asked was to know what you know."

"Did you?" Vergil retorts coolly. Not in those words, no, but how is that make any difference?

"What aren't you telling me?" I say lowly. Vergil straitened, suddenly becoming a looming black shadow.

"Telling you?" The words were idle and careless. They were said with a silent warning not to get uppity. I raised an eyebrow at that, crossing my arms and grinding my jaw.

"Yes," I enunciated the word carefully. "What aren't you telling me?" Vergil wasn't fazed by my little stubborn display. Instead he became the liquid calm; easy going and tranquil but ready to strike at a moment's notice. I was trodding on dangerous ground and I knew it.

"Haven't I played along with this cheap charade long enough? Aren't you the one who plays with the dead?" He asked back, giving me a level gaze. "Why is this important Lauren?" His voice sent shivers down my spine, more so than the ambiguous implication of his words. _This is important because I say so, that's all you get to know!_

"Not all of us have a supernatural power of observation at our disposal," I said, dismissing his implications with willful ignorance. Vergil growled, taking a step forward.

"Little human, do not forget the reason why you are standing here now." At that my spine went stiff. I opened my mouth to speak. "Be very careful with your next words," Vergil said lowly.

"I never asked for your help," I snarled back, throwing caution to the wind. At that Vergil tilted his head to the side, both eyebrows going up. His mouth was a thin hard line as his hand shot out. His thumb pressed into the hollow beneath my chin as his fingers wrapped around my neck. The tips of his fingers were hot to the touch and they dug in deep into the back of my neck. The air in my throat halted, as did any feeling below his well placed fingers. He forced me to look at him.

"Setting aside your temporary insanity and overbearing willfulness. Why are zombie fangs so important?" Vergil commented. I glared at him, saying nothing. Vergil tightened his grip, his thumb nail began to dig into my skin. "Speak Lauren or I will end you here and now." He wasn't fucking around this time. His thumb let up, but only slightly.

"You already know why," I said roughly, giving him a hard look.

"But I want to hear you say it," Vergil retorted, a sadistic smirk on his lips. "Little Lauren, why do these zombies disgust you so much? Why are you so disturbed by the fact that these zombies have fangs?"

"You disgust me," I said. "Ass."

"Wrong answer," Vergil said calmly. Something cracked in my neck and pain like I never knew before bloomed in my legs. I grunted, my laughter came in gasping, straggling gushes.

"Oh there you are, Vergil. For a moment there, you were almost human," I spit out, taunting him. He raised me then, pulling me off the ground several inches so I could share the same eye space as Vergil.

"_You_ disgust _me_," Vergil threw the comment back in my face. "I may be many things Lauren, but not so much a hypocrite as you. You really think you can be the noble human savior? You're using these humans as much as I am. The only difference between you and I is that I have the common curtsey to be bold about it."

"Common curtsey?" I asked, my hand going dangerously close to Agni's pommel. _What part of killing me had been common curtsey?_ It was a stray thought but everything was relative. "Human? Me?" I chuckled dryly. "Vergil I may not be human, but at least I see the point in acting like one." At that he released me, letting me drop to the ground. I was on my knees in the snow, drinking in frozen air when he spoke next.

"I will not be lectured by a creature weaker than I. And you are weak Lauren. Your idea of 'humanity' belies your true nature," Vergil's voice was low. "You are a killer, vicious and without mercy. Any other fantasy you decide to hold is nothing more than a delusional sham." The broad sword hung easy in his hand. I was more aware of the blade than I was of anything else. Even with the blade, I might just hit him for the satisfaction of it.

"Was this that special little talk you wanted to have with me Lancelot?" I asked. This conversation started out about zombies and somehow wound up about the philosophical topic of 'humanity'.

"You're tracking the spread of a viral contagion that reanimates the dead. You don't care who or what gets infected. You don't even care about the infection itself." I didn't say anything. Vergil continued, "This virus is a true plaque of biblical proportions, is it not? It not only corrupts the flesh but the soul as well."

"You always were one step ahead of the rest," I said hoarsely, struggling to get to my feet. Vergil made no move to assist me. No surprise he'd come to the same conclusion that I had years ago.

"Where did this virus come from Lauren?"

"How the hell should I know?" I snapped, brushing snow off my pants. My throat was sore and bruised. My voice was rough now. It wouldn't heal for a while I knew.

"Should I apologize?" Vergil asked, musing now. "Would that satisfy you? Enough to share your secrets with me?" _His ego is beyond insulting._

"If you're not sincere, don't apologize," I say tartly. "It's the same as a lie."

"When have I ever lied to you Lauren?" Vergil chuckled. There was a hard edge to his voice, but then again, there was nothing soft in Vergil to begin with.

"When have you ever stopped?" I retorted.

"Catch as catch can," Vergil sneered now. "You wouldn't know the truth even if you heard it, let alone tell it yourself." I cracked my neck, looking Vergil in the eye.

"And you would?" I retorted. Vergil's eyes glimmered in the dark, a cool amethyst in the winter chill.

"One way or another, I will learn all you know little human." At that a genuine grin, thick as peanut butter, spread across my fact. I got to my feet. Vergil narrowed his eyes as I spoke next.

"When that happens there will be no more room in hell for the damned Vergil. That I can promise you." His hand was tight on the pommel of his sword and red tinted his eyes a near orange color. The cold wind blew the stench of death about us. I waited to see what would win out: his reason or his anger. As it turned out, I never got the opportunity to see.

Overhead the light of god suddenly beamed down on us. A helicopter pounded in the sky, drawing Vergil and my attention. Heavy duty guns began to unload, the bullets wizzing through the air. Around us, cement exploded, a strait line of craters raced past us towards the direction we had just come. Several blocks away there were hundreds of flesh eaters. They were coming, accompanied by more than one of the giant hulk tanks. For a moment I was grounded to the spot, hearing their abnormal screams over the din of the gunfire. But it was only for a moment. Vergil moved first, his hand slamming down on my shoulder. I jumped, reacting more to Vergil than the guns, my arm was half raised, ready to slug him.

"Ladies first," he hissed, his voice barely above a whisper. I locked eyes with him, even as his hand clenched down on my shoulder. A second later I was flying through the air. I slammed into a glass partition, shoulder first, shattering it into a thousand pieces. I had made it inside a glass wrapped skyscraper. I slid along the ground until I slammed into the far wall, curtsey of Vergil's throw. Groaning I struggled to get up. The arm warmer on my left hand was torn into cloth bits. What parts of my pants that didn't have holes in them from the mini-van did now. It took a second to stop the spinning in my head. I was in a deserted hallway, row upon row of cubicles lined the floor on both my right and left.

Using the wall I got to my feet. No zombies for the moment. It took several seconds of healing before I could stagger over to the broken widow, I could see Vergil below, sword in hand, as he stared down a horde of several hundred ravenous flesh addicted zombies. They were only a block away now. The creepier zeds were actually crawling along the walls of the skyscrapers. Vergil was liquid tranquility however, his hand on his sword. He would meet the on slaught and no one could say boo to that. No one on earth or in hell could ever argue the point that Vergil had a pair, that was for damn sure.

Above, the helicopter began to reel. Several of the mutated zeds had latched onto the copter's side. That's when I realized, the horde was coming from every direction. _Shit…that's not good…_ The epicenter of the damn zombie nation, you'd think the name would've been more badass or something.

I glanced again at Vergil, he was already moving, hacking apart both the zeds and the city in equal measures. Looking down, I had to be at least thirteen or fourteen stories up. No wonder my left shoulder still hurt from crashing through the window. _No way in hell is he getting away with this_.

"This is Chris, we can't stay here for long! We're going to be overrun," The static in my ear was going crazy. "We need to evacuate now! Get to the evac by any means necessary!"

"Chris! Contact! Get on the big gun!" Jill's voice interrupted, crackling over the line. _Wasn't that what they were using before?_ The helicopter began to unload again, unleashing man's fury on the everything.

"Get higher," I snapped, shouting into the com line. "Tell the pilot to get higher! We'll deal with these pricks! Get clear!"

"Are you crazy!" Chris demanded. I could see him, perched behind a giant gun. He saw me, in the window.

"Get clear ," I replied, backing away from the window. "We'll come to you. Get higher! Now!" I backed up to the wall I had hit. I took a breath, steadying. Vergil wanted to take on thousands of hungry zombies. Chris wanted us to rejoin the realm of sanity. Jill wanted to survive this and the pilot wanted our asses on the helicopter. I wanted to win my goddamn bet. _I better get a freakin' medal for this. _

I ran, diving out the window. Had I done this ten years ago, I would have died. There was no question about it. However, I was not the same as I had been ten years ago. Vergil and his damn demon genetics were buzzing in my veins still. A fact I was counting on. Flipping I reached for Agni. I twisted, flying through the air. The temporary free fall allowed me enough time to formulate an actual plan. Several cars were lined along a street filled with skyscrapers. We were in the business district of the city, I recalled.

I was mid street, several stories up. With a thrust, I yanked Rudra free as well. I poured my soul into the blades, activating their darkest powers. The twin blades came to life, roaring with sinister laughter. I had never asked them to go all out. I had never demanded that they use their twisted minds to have fun. Apparently that was the one thing they wanted the most. Together they created a Hurrican of flame, raining down hell on the buildings along the street. The sky scrapper on the right took the most damage. It wasn't enough to destroy the building however.

Twisting through the air, I hit the building across the street. This time however, I dug Agni into the window. The blade melted the glass, bring me to a halt faster than I anticipated. My left shoulder screamed in agony but I ignored it. Instead I watched the show of the horrors I had unleashed. Agni and Rudra's firestorm continued to spread. The flames melted the windows and concrete, resulting in molten goo. The lava poured down onto the street, flooding over the parked cars and turning the necros into mini-torches. The world was ablazed and the heat coming off the street was a blissful torture. I could feel my fingers and toes again, but I could also feel them burning.

Below, several feet from the river of lava, part of the horde had already reached Vergil. He had no problems fending them off. The whole street was his battle arena. Vergil was a blur of black against the white and orange of the night. He left a trail of blood in his wake and bodies too numerous to count. As the lava ignited the gas tanks of the cars, five well-placed car bombs went off damn near simultaneously. The percussion from the explosions was defening, and the heat wave from them, near scortching. Even as high up as I was, the heat was near painful. I couldn't imagine how hot it was on the Street. The building on the right began to crumble, done in by the car bombs. It fell across the street and onto the charging horde. Hundreds of dead heads that weren't human torches, were now road kill.

Vergil saw what was happening. Hell, for all I know he was anticipating it. With a single blow of his broad sword, the second building on the left came down in a rain of concrete, office chairs and glass. Vergil shouldered the sword, watching the ensuing insanity. Dust from the collapsed buildings made it hard to see, but the horde had been stopped. The helicopter circled above, no longer see-sawing madly. I assumed that to mean their cling on stitches had either been dislodged or put to rest. It was hovering above the wreckage, the pilot was unwilling to chance his machine with a closer look. I coughed, burying my chin and mouth in my scarf. The debris was thick in the air. I could no longer see the street below.

Panting, I looked down once more. Nothing but a gulf of dirty gray lay beneath me. I had no idea where Vergil was. Only the sky above was visible. Chris was screaming in my ear, making demands for confirmation. I ignored him and returned my attention to what I was doing. I needed to get off the side of a building. Overhead, I heard a chilling scream. It was a zombie call to arms. _Fuck me_. I could feel the blood draining from my face as I looked up. The last attack had taken away every added benefit Vergil had jumped me with. All my energy stores were gone, even clining to Agni was taking its toll. I was at the wire. _How had the gum muncher survived_?

Above, I don't know how many stories it was, the gore encrusted face of mutated infected leered down at me. I could feel my body telling me it had no more to give. The night was catching up with me. One too many faces of the damn had pushed their way into my vision. The infected began to crawl towards me, its talon like hands strong enough to crack hand holds in the Skyscraper's glass windows. I snarled, attempting to tighten my weakening grip on Agni. I had to go down to go up.

Sometimes, the most damning thing about working with Vergil was the fact that I was working with Vergil. Placing my feet securely on the window I used the last of my strength to wrench Angi free, sending a seering line of hot flames up the side of the skyscraper. I fell, but not before I watched the mutated zombie burn alive. The wind whistled in my ears as I got a beautiful look at the stars from between my legs. I was headed down, back first, to greet who knew how many floors to the hard concrete below. _Funny how the sky looked the same no matter where you were. _

The wind was crushed out from my lungs. I didn't have to look to know who it was that had caught me. Vergil's arm wrapped around my waist. I twisted in his grip, opting to cling to rather than be dragged. His breath came in heavy against my ear as I wrapped an arm around his neck. Near effortlessly, Vergil raced up the side of the skyscraper. We passed the burned zombie screamer in the blink of an eye. Vergil continued upwards, expending more energy than I could ever possess as he ascended the building. Floor after floor, all of them crammed with the undead flew by. I could see the helicopter above, hear Chris's voice in person and not just through the com link.

With one a final leap, Vergil kicked off the skyscraper. For a moment I thought we were freefalling. My stomach twisted into my throat. Then we landed on the inside of the helicopter. I hit the bottom of it hard, with angi cutting into my leg shallowly. Somehow or another I was gripping the blade with my left hand. I sprawled out messily on the floor as Vergil knelt over me, keeping us both aboard the chopper as it swung dangerously side-to-side. Alarms were screaming at the pilot at the unexpected influx of weight. Chris and Jill were still at their big guns, laying out the dead as the Helicopter began to gain altitude. The horde came out of every nook and cranny, bodies squeezing out of broken window panes and crowded roof tops. All of them had outstretched arms, as if they were pleading to a lover to return. _Where Vergil and I the last edible souls left alive here?_

"Are you alright?" Jill demanded, turning to Vergil and I seconds after we'd cleared the tallest building in sight. I groaned, lightheaded. My leg was still bleeding. There were two benches along the sides of the chopper, by the doors, Chris and Jill sat at seats behind the big guns. In the cockpit the pilot was driving us away to safety. _Damn._

"Get off of me," I demanded weakly, pushing at Vergil, "You're heavy." Wordlessly he released me, allowing me rise to a sitting position. He rose to his feet, taking up his sword in the process. My left shoulder was crying in ways I wasn't sure I wanted to think about just yet. I resheathed Agni with my good hand. "Fuck. Who's idea was that again?" I asked, shifting until I rested against the bottom of a seat.

"You're bleeding," Jill said, taking in the condition of my leg. "I'll get the med-"

"Don't waste your efforts," Vergil interrupted her. With out further comment, Vegil hooked me beneath my right arm and hauled me onto the seat. He took my left arm in his hands and studied it for a moment before giving me a knowing look. _Figures. Lancelot would know a dislocated shoulder when he saw one._ With a grunt, I pulled my scarf off and shoved it in my mouth, gasoline, gore soaked and all. He was quick about it, but it still hurt. With a swift twist, Vergil relocated my shoulder with a snap. I stifled a half scream, feeling my eyes tear up for a moment. I spat out the scarf to take deep, shuddering breaths. _Fuck_. The arm was the finishing blow. I was exhausted. I smelled disgusting. I was hungry. I leaned back against the seat bench thing of the helicopter, closing my eyes with a sigh.

"We're fifteen minutes from sanitization of the city. We will clear the blast zone in the next ten minutes," the pilot said after a moment. "You've done good work. Relax and leave the rest up to me."

"Roger that," Chris replied, taking in the mellow mood of the chopper. Jill kept her eyes trained on Vergil and I, her hands never far from the handgun in her belt. For his part, Vergil sat next to me on the seat, his sword laying across his lap. Chris shook his head, not leaving his spot from behind the big gun. For my part I didn't move. I didn't have the strength to. I yawned, tilting my head back to rest it against the seat cushion. _God what a night_.


	48. Its Electric!

****An update finally. A few notes on this chappie, not quiet sure if I made this clear in the chapter itself or not:

-EVP: Environmental Voice Phenomenon, capturing the voices of 'ghosts' on a tape or digital recorder.

-Puedo-science: a field of science that may or may not be completely accepted by the scientific community for various reasons

* * *

**Hunnigan **

**Post Operation Completion**

The laboratory was dimly lit. A damp coolness clung to the air, making her sniffle almost immediately upon entering the room. She had abandoned her heels not more than fifteen minutes when she got the call. The head of R and D, Mike Johnson, was waiting for her as she made her way through the maze of technological gizmos and wiring. Mike was a technological genius with a perchance for hacking government databases, which was how he had come to her attention in the first place.

"You called saying it was important," she began, stifling a yawn. Despite the time, Mike was wide-awake. In his natural state, Mike could have been considered a grizzly bear. His hair was a shaggy unkempt mess barely held under control with a rubber band. His shaggy beard was in need of a comb and the man himself just topped under 7 feet tall. At a steady 280 and holding, the man was no laughing matter. That aside, she was pretty sure Mike had worn the same clothes three days ago. Whatever he was working on now was keeping him occupied. Thank the heavens the man had decided on geekery as his chosen occupation rather than football player. He would have made a killing in the NFL if he'd had the passion for it. However Mike wouldn't hurt a fly unless it was a computer virus.

"It is. You sent the observational data from the Twin Cities Operation to my department," he paused, frowning as he looked to his wristwatch, "about ten or twelve hours ago." Mike straitened from the computer he was leaning over, pushing up his thick-framed glasses as he did so. He turned to Hunnigan, giving her his full attention finally. For all Hunnigan knew, he'd slept on the floor of his lab for the last three days.

"Yes. The observational materials need to be gone through in the next three hours. I know it's a tight time line but I want everything done and sealed before the operatives return. I don't even want them to hear a whisper of what we're doing here."

"Right, right," Mike nodded enthusiastically. "That shouldn't be too much of a problem. The team is still working on it, but they're nearly finished. As it is we've already found something interesting. However chief, I need to confirm something."

"Confirm something?" Hunnigan crossed her arms. "What exactly?"

"I need clearance to the contamination ward. Specifically to the new unknown subjects-the male and the female that fried that car-the ones you're keep sedated with the Serium," Mike spoke quickly.

"How exactly do you know about that?" Hunnigan demanded, only somewhat surprised he had knowledge of the two. Access to the sedated infectees should have been a top-level security clearance only. Mike should have been ignorant of infectee Dante and his blushing bride, Trish. Even few still knew of Dante's biological connections with their new operative Vergil. Although how you'd miss the noticeable evidence of identical twins was near impossible.

"I'm the chief of Research and Development," Mike said flatly. "On top of that you have me assisting Raziel at every turn. I think a better question would be how could I not know of it by now?" Mike waved a hand, dismissing the sidetracked inquiry. "I need to confirm something, but hmmm, do you know what an EVP is?" Mike rubbed his chin thoughtfully. Mike wasn't always the most articulate about his findings. Hunnigan knew from experience that she would have to listen to Mike's mismashed spew of proposed evidence before he would get down to the point of calling her to the lab.

"EVP?" Hunnigan asked. "No, I don't think I do."

"EVP is short for Electronic Voice Phenomenon. In short, the psudo-scientific study of the paranormal uses EVPs to record voices of what some believe to be the dearly departed." Mike began to pace the room. "Bare with me for a moment. Normally I don't deal in psudo-science," his voice trailed off and he shrugged.

"However?" Hunnigan prompted him after a moment when he didn't continue.

"Well there are many suggested methodologies, but the study of the paranormal consists of finding accurate, consistent ways to prove there is some sort of existence postmortem. There are many investigative methods used to explore this theory. However the main problem with paranormal research is the lack of consistency."

"A lack of consistency with the methods or the technology used in the investigations?" Hunnigan raised an eyebrow.

"No, no the technology and research tools used on the paranormal remains the same from investigation to investigation," Mike waved a hand. "What I meant to say is that the findings-the scientific measurements themselves-are never consistent. Most findings are unreliable because they cannot be consistently reproduced under the exact same conditions without fail. This is the reason parapsychology-paranormal research for the sake of science-is considered a psudo-science."

"What does the study of the paranormal have to do with your findings on the Twin Cities observational recordings?"

"Everything and nothing," Mike said with a small grin. "I'll tell you what I know, but I need your guarantee I'll be given access to your sedated 'unkown' subjects." Hunnigan crossed her arms.

"Depending on your findings and what your needs are, I'll consider it." Mike shrugged, easy going.

"Whatever you say. Now, back to EVPs. EVPs are pretty simple methods of data gathering. You place a sensitive recording device in an empty room and leave it. Later you play back what has been recorded listening for unusual sounds or voices that may not have been heard under normal circumstances."

"That sounds doubtful at best," Hunnigan said, crossing her arms. "It is the human condition to try to make sense out of non-sense. Anyone could listen to a recording and believe they heard something."

"Yes! Exactly! That's why parapsychology is as pseudoscience. Its methods of gathering data are unreliable. However recently, with the increase in popularity on reality tv shows, parapsychology has started using more definitive methods of data gathering."

"Other than EVPs?"

"Yes. For example, thermal imaging, just like what we were using to monitor the last operation, are often used to record temperature influxes."

"Why temperature? What does that have to do with?" Hunnigan asked.

"Now this is why I like you Hunnigan," Mike said suddenly, giving her a smile. "You ask the right kind of questions. There are some theories that claim a sudden drop in temperature indicates a paranormal entity attempting to project its existence in our realm. The drop in temperature is attributed to the entity taking the energy or 'life force' from the air, causing its temperature to sink dramatically. Hence when we think of ghosts we think of a cold chill running down your spine. You still with me on this?"

"Yes but I'm still looking for the explanation as to how this relates to the data gathered-" Mike held up a hand, silencing her.

"We used thermal recordings of the satellite feed of the twin cities," Mike interrupted her. "In fact the readings we've analyzed at the R and D division are leaving me to make a few speculations of my own. However before that, I want to test my theory out."

"You've told me nothing, give me something to go on," Hunnigan demanded.

"I won't leave any smudge marks on the windows," Mike said, lightly. "Nor do I actually need to see _both_ of them per say. Promise. All I need is this." He held up a small box with two cables attached to it. At the end of the cables metal prongs were exposed to the air. "This is called a multimeter."

"Commonly used to test the voltage of outlet sockets," Hunnigan finished for him dryly. "What are you going to do? Be brief."

"Yes, now we found in our footage analysis that when ever something unexplained happened, our satellites and other technologies had technological difficulties. Batteries were drained more quickly, generators had to work twice as hard to keep up with regular output. More specifically we had a lot of little electrical issues. Together those little issues add up. Now my theory is this: our newest field agents are the source of the electro interference our computers and satellites seem to suffer from time to time.'

"When I went back to our footage of when Star escaped her cell, just before the bio weapon destroyed half of our compound, I noticed a patter of electrical disturbances occurred. The light bulbs in Star's room used up twice the amount of amps than they should have. Everywhere Star went, the amps of electricity increased ever so slightly. The same situation is happening right now where you're keeping the two unknowns," Mike finished breathless, pushing his glasses up on his nose. "The light bulbs have been replaced at least once since they've been shipped here. Additionally when I cross-analyzed the electrical disturbances from the Twin Cities mission with our thermal readings, there was a definite correspondence. For every electrical disruption, the thermal readings shot through the roof."

"That's the exact opposite of what you said happened with ghosts," Hunnigan retorted.

"Yes, ghosts make the temperature drop. But then again, as the theory goes that's what happens when dead things take energy out of the air. I'm guessing it may be different when living beings channel this life force."

"You're forgetting," Hunnigan held up a hand. "Many parts of cities were destroyed by fires. Could they have affected the thermal readings in any way?"

"I thought of that, but no," Mike paused his pacing and returned to his computer. "The thermal readings I isolated were specific to the bio signatures of our new field agents, Star and Vergil. What I mean to say is that their _internal_ _body__temperatures_ spiked during each and every electrical disturbance." Mike tapped on the keyboard before backing away from the monitor. The green thermal image showed a distinct outline of a person. The red figure glowed as it moved. For every action it glowed stronger, before returning to its original red state. The footage clip was short but it was more than enough to illustrate Mike's point.

"Are you saying these people are living batteries?"

"No I'm saying there's a high potential that, for whatever reason, these people can actually generate additional energy within their bodies. I've never seen phenomena like this. I'm pretty sure I could develop some way to actively measure the output of their energy, buuuutttt-"

"You need to test your theory out first," Hunnigan finished for him. "Its an interesting theory Mike, and one I'd agree we need to follow up on. However," she paused, giving the multimeter a wary eye, "what exactly is your follow up experiment?"

"I'm calling it the E-TAP experiment or Electro-Thermal Apparition Phenomenon. I'm going to use the multimeter to test the outlets in the holding rooms. Specifically the female's, as she has already demonstrated the ability to expel large amounts of energy."

"That's it?"

"Yeah, that's it." Hunnigan sighed, relaxing slightly. Mike's brown crinkled. "Hey what did you think I was going to use this for?"

"I can get you clearance, but you have to give me an hour or two," Hunnigan rose to her feet, ignoring Mike's question.

"If my theory is correct, the amp output in their holding cells will be doubled, just as it was for Star's holding room. I'm waiting on the electric bill for Star's room as well as the amp output of the interview room Vergil was commissioned in. Given enough research, I might even find a way to rank and measure the energy outputs. It may give us a better idea of what-or who-we're dealing with."

"Right. Keep me updated on this. I'll get you clearance Mike. Make sure you're ready to go in an hour or so."

"Got it chief," Mike said. He'd already returned to his computer, the multimeter stuffed haphazardly into the front of his shirt pocket. Quietly, Hunnigan left the lab allowing Mike to work in his personal thought bubble.


	49. Edited: God & Science

**Raziel**

The sample collections exceeded his expectations and were beyond useful in the way of research. Raziel had finished cultivating usable genetic materials from the samples by the time the field agents returned. It wasn't difficult to isolate a highly contagious virus when the samples were swarming with it. Alone in the laboratory, save for Mike the R & D head, Raziel threw caution to the wind. Rather than working in the secrecy of the viral containment ward, he opted to utilize the better quality technology Mike's laboratory boasted of.

So far, the initial genetic tests were a success. Or rather the antivirus harvested from the samples were successful in completing a viral map of genomes and plasmids. He was able to neutralize various mutagenic factors of the T virus by combining it with insignificant amounts of Amplyfy. As a controlled threat, it was nothing short of a combination of insane genius and luck. With this new concoction of antivirus and tampered viral threat, it would be easy to stem off the effects of a second round of infection.

And there would be a second round of infection, of that Raziel had no doubts.

However there was a flaw with the newest antivirus he had created. The formula was as unstable as it was powerful. It would undoubtedly systematically mutate any living person whom may be vaccinated with it. Despite the fact that the T virus was inundated with Amplyfy, the later antivirus possessed the side effect of producing a highly adaptive virus unstable in design and function. In other words, the T virus may not have been nearly as deadly as it was before, but it would still destroy and mutate normal human tissues it came into contact. The antivirus was after all, still incomplete. A buffer would be needed to stabilize the new antivirus as well as protect those who would be immunized with it. Raziel's black nails flew over the keyboard before him. Immersed as he was in the imaginary world of numbers and formulas, Raziel was never more aware of the questionable nature of his work than he was at that moment.

The guise of fate had been lifted and what he had been blind to previously was now plainly, _painfully_ clear. It was a roll of the dice as to whether or not something usable would be created with next actions. In fact, it would be more a matter of debate, of speculation, when this moment in history would be reviewed by generations yet to come. He knew this and the gravity of the moment, the weight of the hundreds of millions of lives that would be, bore their existence down upon his shoulders. Knowing the evil and the good that would come, it was without hesitation that Raziel recombined the viral strand from the twin cities with the known T virus strand. He was anticipating the stabilization of the antivirus. The resulting creation was something the disowned angel hadn't seen since the time of his own birth. With a sigh, Raziel leaned back in his chair. The monitor before him did not lie.

He was born into creation to guide order from chaos. As angel born of the house of god, a seneschal of all that god had created and then abandon for other past times. The responsibility of cleaning up after a careless God had been left to His children, namely Raziel himself, and his sisters, Loki and Vali. Of the three of them, Raziel resided over the guidance of God's ordained commands, deriving goodness, order and ascension to greatness regarding God's creations. Raziel-one of the last living members of his race-was the guardian of order. His sister Loki, maintained the barriers between life and death, or so that had been her purpose. As for his last sister, Vali, she had been cast to hell to ensure God's creations would be given an opportunity to delight in triumph. It was Vali's purpose to serve chaos. Ten years ago, both his sister had been laid low by the actions of their own hands. It was time for Raziel to tie the knot of his own noose, and so take actions from his own hand. He regarded the monitor, acknowledging the sacrifice of his sisters and the deed that must now be done.

All viruses reproduced by using host cells like a parasite. They copied their RNA after inserting themselves into the cell, corrupting it in the process. Corrupted cells died, sending more of the virus out into the body, allowing it to contaminate other cells. It was in this manner that the virus would quickly take over the host body. The introduction of the Twin Cities virus to the T virus strand did little to alter either virus. Raziel held his breath. There was no discernible increase in stability for either virus. Instead the two viruses simply co-existed together, both feeding off the same genetic sample. However, Raziel was far from finished when it came to playing god of his dish. He leaned forward once again, taking up a small dropper filled with his final contagion.

He introduced a third viral strand to the concoction. The Hope viral strand was vastly different from both the T virus and the Twin Cities virus. As expected from a virus with similar effects, the strand from Hope, Arizona, had undergone its own path of evolution. It was a virus completely different from either the T virus or the Twin Cities virus. Though this means of introducing the three viruses together, Raziel finally produced something of note. Together, when forced into the same environment with little live off of, the three viruses mutated into something new all together. Raziel watched carefully as bits and pieces of the old viruses died and a new more deadly sickness was created.

Further introduction of fresh, untainted genetic material-namely in the form of a blood sample-did little to weaken the newly formed virus. Rather, the virus fell into a feeding frenzy. This new virus-he decided he would call it Anomaly Synthesis-not only used host cells to reproduce itself, but it also seemed to mutate when put into different environments. The T-virus itself was able to do as much-transferring from person to person through blood, bites and air exposure. Characteristics of all three viruses seemed to be present in the Anomaly Synthesis to differing degrees.

The AS virus was assimilating, Raziel knew, the immunities the blood sample had carried. The virus was using the DNA from the cell to make itself stronger and more resistant. He knew this without the use of the microscope, just as he was also aware that mankind's science was years away from explaining the phenomenon within his experiment. Anomaly Synthesis pushed the theory of evolution to absurd proportions. A virus that not only used host cells but absorbed their genetic immunities truly was a killer virus. Raziel was the father of a raging plaque that could very well kill every form on life in existence. He grinned weakly to himself.

Taking a breath he leaned forward, considering. If he were to pursue this line of research...well...he was very aware of the consequences. An organism able to adapt to any change in living condition or habitat could be considered as a truly perfect creation. Such perfection was deified and had not graced the planet earth since man was little more than a monkey banging stones together.

Raziel steadied himself. If there would be an illness then there would likewise be a cure. Had he inadvertently created the AS virus? No. There was no such thing as coincidence. Not yet in any case. Only through a balance of Chaos and Fate did one truly walk life's path. Raziel knew with damning certainty that he had created AS not because of his skill in genetics but because he was, and always had been, destined to. The Accord binding God was broken, yet God himself was not. Nor was his Will. The amount of untold suffering and redemption, the glimmer of horror and salvation that lay before him was staggering. Raziel rose to his feet. If hell should be born of the dish in front of him, then so would heaven. After all, there was no such thing as coincidence.

The only problem with the virus was the fact that any vaccination from AS would mutate any normal person who received it. Without a buffer to soften the AS virus, a cure was impossible. A cure, a _useable_ cure, would come only in the form of a person who had taken on AS and developed proper immunities to it. Such a person would be rare, far more rare than even a creature such as himself.

Raziel thought on that for a moment. To create a non-threatening cure, he'd have to harvest immunities literally grown in another individual. _That could be done…_ Injecting a fertilized embryo with AS would conceivably create an AS immunity carrier, the person who could donate a blood sample and literally save the world in the process. Growing a human to save the world with their special AS immunity blood. _It could be done…._

Creating a genetically altered donor child for the sake of creating a more useable AS cure. It was unethical and morally questionable. Human cloning was impossible, but infecting and genetically designing an unborn child? That was possible. At this point it was worth a try. The humans would have their cure, but they would never need to know about its source. Such a child, would undoubtedly live a short life. Who knew how unstable the virus would be once the child hit puberty? In either case, Raziel had his cure and if it came at the cost of another's life, then he would take that chance and willingly.

With trepidation, Raziel stepped away from his work. He needed to find a fertilized embryo.

**Hunnigan **

Mike whistled lowly, taking in the wall of plexi glass as he and Hunnigan both passed the last of many security checks. The control room was bare safe for the environmental switchboard. Everything from clean air intake to room temperature was controlled at the switchboard, including the vitals of the sedated subjects.

"So those are the two that could've caused an epidemic?" Mike asked as he began testing the switchboard for 'electrical leaks' as he called.

"Only the man was a infected up on retrieval," Hunnigan replied.

"That man have a name?" Mike asked mildly. There was a tinge of prodding to his voice. He had been a free man once upon a time and had despised being called 'Hacker Zero' when he was finally apprehended. Mike had been quick to inform other that hackers preferred their handle names and little else.

"Dante," Hunnigan sighed. "Dante Sparda as far as we can tell. He used an alais for a while. Tony I think."

"And her?" Mike asked. He knelt taking a panel from the bottom of the switchboard. It popped free and he set it aside. He began to poke and prod the electrical wires there, searching for weaknesses.

"Trish, last name unknown. We initially were going to bring her in for questioning and identity confirmation. There was an altercation, she became violent and was sedated. We brought her back here for observation. So far no tox screens have confirmed her as infected. Unlike Dante."

"So she was caught in the cross fire?" Mike asked. He replaced the switchboard panel, satisfied. Reaching into his shirt pocket, he rose, writing his findings down on his clipboard.

"Who can say?" Hunnigan replied. "What's next for your readings?"

"I need to test the outlets and light sockets in the room."

"How long will that take?" Mike cast her a sidelong glance.

"It'll go faster if I have help. I'm also going to be recording us with a thermal camera. It'll help reconfirm any electrical spikes we might find."

"Alright." Hunnigan moved to the switch board. With a few buttons the heavy blast door to the containment ward slowly slide open. "We have a window of a half an hour before we get locked in that room for the next 48 hours. Let's use our time wisely shall we?"

The work went far more quickly than Hunnigan had anticipated it would. Within twenty minutes Mike had tested the outlets and light sockets. Every one of his readings went down on his clipboard. They were well on their way, leaving Dante and Trish to their sedated silence before their 30 minute window expired.

"When will you have results?" Hunnigan asked as they walked down a hallway towards the main part of the facility.

"Probably within several hours," Mike replied, rubbing his bearded chin thoughtfully.

"Good. Call me when they are done." Nodding Mike turned, and strolled down the hallway leading to the Research and Development Laboratories.

"Oh and Mike?" Hunnigan called to him. Pausing, he turned to her, intent. "Take a shower. Change your clothes and get some sleep. You need it."


	50. The Bet

**Lor**

The exhaustion of over expending my auric attack caught up with me but good and fast. I nearly collapsed into my leather padded chair when escorted to the military transport jet. Apparently all that preparation crap a plane has to go through is done preemptively when you kick a lot of zombie ass. Granted they had detained us in 'decontamination' for the better part of two hours looking for signs of infection. After making decontamination clearance, we were bussed onto the waiting plane. By 'we' I mean Leon, Chris, Jill, Sheva, Vergil, four survivors Chris and Jill had found last minute on a rooftop and a red haired chic I knew all too well.

The four survivors were hard worn but survivors through and through. The gristled old man wore a tattered military uniform. A veteran soldier, who knew what war. Vietnam or Korean his age was anything to go on. Sitting next to the veteran was a biker guy. He was dressed as every biker I've ever met seemed to be. He wore the compulsory leather vest and had enough inked tattoos to fill several bic pens. Their third companion was a white collar office worker, had a red tie and some red on his otherwise crumpled but white shirt. The office worker didn't look like much he but joked easily with the veteran and biker. The only girl in the group had to have been a college student. Brown haired with a pink jacket, she was the youngest of the group. They watched the rest of us in the plane with a weary shell-shocked gaze.

Her brown eyes alighted on me, I held her gaze for a moment before she got nervous and looked away. No wonder. I was a fit mess. My arm warmers were torn, pants stained with gas, blood, and oil , boots burnt down to nubby rubber soles, and of all things my batman shirt was intact. My shoulder still hurt to boot and the rest of me turned to quivering nerve ends when I sat down.

That aside the red haired chic was glancing me up and down. I knew her, had met and fought along side her even, but that was another lifetime ago. BloodRayne, she'd introduced herself as when we first met. Who knew what name she was running around with now. Rayne wasn't exactly human, but no doubt that little bit of information would be better kept on the down low while all us twitchy post traumatic stress freaks were aboard the same confining space. Rayne's tell tale twin blades were resting on the seat next to her. Really, it had to have been to most lax airline security I'd ever seen. Save for the four refugees, everyone else in the plane was packing.

Speaking of twitchy stress freaks, Chris and Jill were both giving Vergil and I a wide clearance. No doubt our little stunts had them on their tiptoes. They hadn't breathed a word of what had happened to the decontamination goonies, but they weren't going out of their way to make nice either. _Whatever_.

Rayne crossed her long legs, watching me with detached analytical eyes. There was another one who had the emotional training to make her scary enough not to mess with. I returned Rayne's detached, cold stare. She tilted her head to the side, the tip of her tongue flicked pass her lips as she played with a fang. I gave her my best 'FU' face briefly before settling into my seat. As I finally relaxed the muscles in my legs and stomach clenched painfully into hard knots before easing up into not so subtle spasms. My nails dug into the armrests of my chair as I waited the pain out. If Rayne had nothing to say, neither did I. I had more difficult things than her to deal with. Mind numbing exhaustion and physical stupidity among other things.

It was a three-hour flight back to the military base. I slept for the duration of it. The whole trip felt like an eye blink and when I woke up, I was as groggy and cranky-if not more so-than I had been when I feel asleep. My shoulder still hurt. My legs quivered like a newborn colt, and my grip was weaker than an infant's. The world tipped sideways when I stood up. Just like a blood donation occasionally left a donor lightheaded, donating so much energy to a single attack left me near invalid. Staggering, I grabbed for the headrest of the nearest seat to keep from toppling over. Rayne passed me another cursory analytical glance before she turned and left the jet. Her stilettos never made even the quietest of sounds as she stalked away, back poker strait.

"You okay?" Chris asked from behind me. I started weakly at the sound of his voice. I was surprised he was talking to me at all.

"Fine," I croaked, taking a step forward to follow the college chic in the pink jacket from the cities. My head was pounding. Shuffle by shuffle I made it off the jet. Molassess would have moved faster. By the time I got off the jet Chris was giving me sneaking glances. He was frowning but wasn't saying anything. I nearly tripped as I shuffled across the landing strip towards the base. Carefully I caught myself, taking a breath to steady my jits. My shoulder was guaranteeing it would scream bloody murder if I fell on it. Chris frowned again, following me. He cleared his throat, making to speak.

"You pathetic human," Vergil's voice rippled across grey of the early morning. I glanced over. He was a black shadow against the early morning light. "You over extended yourself." I raised an eyebrow. _Overextended__myself__eh?_

"I thought that was a guy only problem," I smirked tiredly. "The over extending bit, that is." Vergil raised an eyebrow.

"Apparently it is," he retorted smoothly, not laughing. _Me?__With__male__envy?__How__the__hell__would__that__be__possible?_ I chuckled. I was still alive. That in and of itself was something of a miracle. Vergil just called me a dude, but hey, it was funny shit. In fact the whole idea was damn hilarious. I started laughing outright. I couldn't stop. I wasn't just 'over extended' I was bone deep in exhaustion and climbing my way ten fathoms deeper with each step. I wiped away the tears forming in my eyes from laughing so hard. My stomach hurt but it was already predisposition to it.

"Give a he-she a lift?" I asked Vergil as I nearly tripped over my own feet once again. He was quick to reach out and shove me back onto both heels.

"No." The response was swift and firm. I snorted on laughter again.

"Vergil are you homo-phobic?" I asked, still chuckling. "Aren't demons supposed to be open minded?"

"I could care less what your sexual preference is," Vergil retorted dryly. "Although your present state raises more than a few questions."

"You said sex," I sniggered. "I'ma he-she. I juz said so," I giggled, my laughter making my speech slur. It was kinda hard to breath between the laughter.

"With that kind of hair, I wouldn't question it." That shut me up for a moment. I stopped laughing and stared at Vergil, processing what that meant. Then I cracked up again.

"Say what?" Now it was Vergil's turn to don a rare faint smile as he shook his head in slight disgust. Don't get me wrong it wasn't a real smile. Vergil doesn't smile. But the corner of his mouth tipped upwards. He was amused to say the least, at my near hysterical behavior. "Seriously?" I asked him. "Everything you could pick on with this outfit and you're taking out my do?"

"A boy is a boy and you look like one," Vergil replied. His hands were jammed in his pocket. He'd secreted away his new flaming sword of doom into whatever aura pocket of hell there had been. I didn't remember quite when he had done it, but then again, there are some things I probably didn't want to know. I was holding my still aching arm as I walked.

"You ever try to run past a zombie with long hair?" I retorted. "Them fuckers have strong hands." I snorted, chuckling too. My bubbling laughter was killing itself off quickly. "Strong teeth too," I added. "Christ I need a-"

"If you're going to say what I think you're going to say," Vergil cut in, sucking the humor from the conversation.

"A beer?" I finished. I ran a hand through my hair. "I could go for a cig too though, now that I think about it." Vergil shook his head.

"You never learn."

"Bull," I retorted. I gave Vergil a glance. "Less look at facts m'kay? We're tied, _Verg_."

"Tied?" Vergil thought for a moment. He had slowed his pace to match my own. As usual his question wasn't so much as a question as it was a statement. _Seriously__how__does__he__do__that?_"I was leading by nearly a hundred head last count," Vergil commented after a moment.

"Yeash, buuuuuttt-" I started.

" 'Tied'," Chris' voice made me jump for the second time in as many minutes. He was trailing behind us by a few steps. He'd heard every part of our conversation so far. _Fuckin__' __snoopy__bastard_. " 'A hundred head'?" He asked looking between Vergil and I. "You made a bet-a game-out of this mission?" I sighed not bothering to mask my irritation as I looked over to Vergil. I stopped walking as slow about faced to Chris. Vergil remained silent as he glanced from me to Chris. _Guess__ that__ means __I __take __this __one._ I gathered my self for a cranky, razor edged rebuttal.

"I supposed focusing on the fact that I was killing sick people should have been a priority then?" I asked flatly. _Wow,__boy __scout __just __sucked __the __fun __out __of __that __conversation_. Chris looked taken aback for a moment, before his expression softened.

"No," he said. "That's not what I meant." Chris paused as if thinking. "I don't care what you do to cope. Just don't let too many people hear about it. They'll ship you to section 8 you if they think you're getting unstable." _Section__8? __What__ is__ that __for__ crazies__ or__s omething?_

" 'Getting unstable'?" Vergil asked dryly. "She already is."

"I'ma man," I announced, brightening as I picked up on Vergil's vibe. I started giggling again. "Wrong pronoun, 'member?" Chris looked between Vergil and I. "He kills things for fun," I said pointing to Vergil innocently. I doubled over laughing. Killing things for fun? That was a misdometer offense compared to what else Vergil had probably done in his life. Fuck, Chris would never see Vergil coming let alone fend him off. No one would, least of all me. Chris shook his head, not quiet cracking a smile.

"I kill as needed," Vergil corrected me, unamused now. I snorted, laughing still. _Ouch_. _Where __did __I __fall __into __all __of __that? __Had__ I __been __an__ '__as __needed__' __basis __too?_ The pain would have been unbearable if I hadn't been laughing so hard.

"With flaming steel," I responded, devolving into giggles again. "And the non-flaming variety as well. Hey Verg, does that overextend itself too?"

"Riiiiight, just keep what I said in mind," Chris said, backing up. He tossed Vergil a funny look that was priceless. It set me off laughing harder. "See you both around." We'd made it just out side the compound. The air inside was liquid warm against my skin compared to the frosty chill of mountain air. It beckoned as we stood just beyond the ring of light the facility shed. Chris nodded a final time to Vergil as he turned away. He followed Leon, Sheva and Jill to where ever. I made a face at his retreating back. _Butthole._

"We're tied," I said, attempting to snuff my giggles. I turned to Vergil, crossing my arms in the cold. "I annihilated just as many as you at the end."

"You took my kill." Vergil cocked a head to the side as he crossed his arms

"Cry me a fuckin' river," I retorted. "You wanted'em so badly you'd'uv killed'em yourself. We're _tied_ Vergil." He considered it for a moment. He straitened before speaking.

"As you say. You may request one thing that is within my power to give."

"Same to you," I replied, yawning. "It's a tie…so neither of us won and neither of us lost."

"And what do you want Lauren?" Vergil asked me coolly. He was tense, waiting. I remember our less than friendly talk in the cities. _What__a__loaded__question._I gave Vergil a beautiful smile, still giggling a little.

"Got'er narrowed down to two ideas. Can't make up my mind," I paused. "What do you want?" Vergil raised an eyebrow. "Ya might influence my decision." Vergil was quick to my battle deadened senses. Hell a one winged fly would have been quick. His hand buried into my hair, his fingertips digging lightly into my skull. He forced my face upwards towards his as he took a step forward. We had to have been separated by mere inches. For a moment I didn't breath.

"Grow your hair out, little boy," he smirked, releasing me. The short spiked ends of my hair slid through his fingers. "A girl should act _and_ look as one."

"That's it?" I asked. _All __the __things __he __could __ask __for __and __he __wants __me __to __look __like __a __grungy __version__ of __Rapunzel?_

"Should I have made a different request?" Vergil asked. The hard edge was back to his voice and eyes. He was dropping the amusement and trading it up for his 'Demon-Lord-kills-you' mask. He was fore-going our previous, darker conversation in the cities. We were back to playing pretend again. Vergil wasn't going to ask such an obvious request. He wanted the challenge of figuring out the puzzle I represented for himself.

"The hell should I know?" I asked, opting to keep it light. "Was your request." I yawned again, feeling my leg muscles beginning to quiver a bit as I continued to stand.

"Hmm," Vergil was non-committal. We stood in silence for a minute, chewing on that last bit of conversation. Or at least Vergil was. I wasn't thinking about a damn thing related to what Vergil wanted. In fact my thoughts were a complete 180 to his.

"I know what I want," I said after a moment.

"Oh?" Vergil gave me his full attention. "And what is it you desire Lauren?" The words 'a new Ferrari' almost slipped out. I giggled at the thought before shaking my head, clearing my mind.

"An eternal favor," I said.

"I shouldn't have to remind you that your request has to be something-"

"Within your power to give blah, blah, blah," I waved away the rest of the bet's conditions with a hand. "I made the conditions. I know the restrictions on the bet." Vergil waited expectantly. "I want an eternal favor from the king of hell." I shivered in the morning air. _Better__ make __this __good_. "I want your help Vergil. Not when I want it, but when I need it. That's the favor."

"An eternal favor," Vergil said.

"If its within your power to do so, you'll help me where and when you can."

"Not when you want it but when you need it," Vergil finished, considering. "What ensures that I keep this bet?"

"Hey you can hang out with a dude or I can grow my hair out," I retorted, slightly annoyed. "I'm not the one picking bones about the way someone else looks. Other than that, nothing really." Vergil considered.

"And when would your 'favor' end?" He somehow made the word favor seem a tad bit more sarcastic than he should have.

"Whenever one of us expires," I shrugged. "Does it matter?"

"You're asking for far more than I did," Vergil commented.

"Apparently greed isn't native to your character," I said sarcastically. Now there was irony for you.

"What did you do to the gem I gave you?" He asked suddenly.

"I threw it away," I replied, shrugging. "I told you that. Ask me the same question and I will always answer it the same way."

"You also often lie," Vergil responded. True fact, but not completely. How funny life shifts from left to right to something in between the two of them.

"You know the clinical definition of insanity is doing the same thing expecting a different result every time. A bet is a bet. You taking my terms or not?"

"A bet is a bet," Vergil said quietly. "You can have your eternal favor Lauren."

"A you shall have…_hair_…," I glanced over to Vergil. "You didn't hit your head or something did you?" Vergil laughed. It was a cold, unamused laugh of a ruler. For the first time I wondered what exactly Vergil had been through on his quest to rule hell. Was it worth it? Did he finally have everything he wanted? Was it worth abandoning his humanity for? Did the ends justify the means for him? God help him on the day he decided it didn't or hadn't.

"What in the world do you know of that could harm me?" _True__ fact __right__ there._With demonic healing, there wasn't much other there that could even leave a lasting mark, let alone hurt Vergil in a lasting physical for the fact that something out there had hurt Vergil that badly before. He had the scar on his body to prove it. I had seen it before. Once or twice, but that was probably a story I would never learn.

Twin lines of thought, parallel to each other. Ruler of hell and those that had hurt him. Huh. I would keep my fingers crossed that Vergil would keep his end of the bet. Whether he knew it or not, it was time for me to pay him back in kind for the use he had put me through 10 years ago. But hey, isn't that what friends are for? Even the murdering bastard kind?

"Right then," I said, grousing myself. "A bet is a bet." I yawned again. "You wanna grab a beer or summin'?" Vergil stepped away, heading back to the retreating shadows.

"Rest Lauren, you won't last another hour in your condition." I scratched my head as Vergil melted into the shadows.

"You commin' back some time soon?" I asked the fading darkness. If Vergil was still there to hear me, he didn't respond. All I heard was the rustle of leaves in the pre-winter chill of the morning.


	51. Discretion

**Rayne & Leon **

The hallways were dark and quiet, at least in this part of the complex. Further out the hustle of another day was beginning. Here however, it was blessedly dark and quiet. Easy to lurk about, even in her weakened state. She was fed yet she was tired, something that didn't happen often. While She wasn't fully human, when she did sleep it was only for mere hours at a time. Cat foot Rayne's spiked stilettos barely made a sound as she stalked down the hallway. She sniffed. These smells, they were familiar. She came to a halt. This was it. Behind her voices echoed down the concrete walkway. Rayne smirked to herself.

"You're on security detail after your debriefing," Hunnigan commented. Leon sighed. Two hours of detox followed by three more hours of debriefing after a three-hour flight. Hunnigan glanced at him from the corner of her eye. "You should rest up tonight. I have a feeling the president will be giving you a personal call soon. He'll want everything you have on Star and her friend."

"… … …. …" He didn't bother replying. The thought of President Link inviting himself over was the least of his concern. The two of them came to a halt in front of his rooms. Hunnigan turned to him, slipping the glasses from her face. She pinched the bridge of her nose, squeezing her eyes shut for a moment.

"I'm required to ask you about the Infectee's behavior in the field," Hunnigan sighed, "Also how Star seemed to react to the infection, but it can wait." The internal affairs officer that she was, Leon didn't envy her position at all. Hunngian slipped her glasses on once again. "There something else as well."

"Yeah?" Leon leaned in the doorway to his tiny rooms. His chest felt confined, there were already bruises from the bioweapon's tongue. X-ray's had proven that he'd suffered no broken or cracked ribs though the bruises were promising to be peaches. That aside, he was tired. He'd been up and active for the better part of 14 hours now.

"Its your invite," Hunnigan handed him the sealed envelop. Leon raised an eyebrow, studying the small white paper she handed him. 'Invite' was simply code for useful field information. He made to speak. "I trust you'll look into the matter and get back to me with your RSVP as soon as possible." Field agents didn't normally get 'invites' as they usually contained information with a privy access of 'need to know'. However Hunnigan was his field support. There was no doubt that the invite was operative information regarding his security detail. Hunnigan had a habit of digging up information the hire-ups didn't release to operatives for weeks. Sometimes even months. Leon chuckled, playing along with the ruse.

"I don't think I even own a tux," He turned the envelop over in his hands before jamming it into a back pocket. Hunnigan just shrugged, her narrow shoulders moving the fabric of her outfit. The information was pocketed. He'd go over it when he had the time.

"Just follow through with a reply. You can do it over the compounds internal link system if you have to." The woman wouldn't lose her composure. She was the perfect epitome of cool. Hell, she should have been a spy. Not only did he have the latest must have in field information, he also knew there'd be something waiting for him on the compounds internal computer systems. The thought of teasing her crossed his mind, but he was just too damn tired.

"Understood," Leon commented, turning towards his room door.

"Good night Leon."

"Night Hunnigan."

The door slid shut behind him as the weak lights flickered on overhead. His room was bare. A bed and a desk crowded the living space and built in drawers for clothing lurked beneath the bed. On the table an empty glass and a half bottle of liquor sat. Right where he'd left them. Leon crossed the room in two steps, sending the envelope to join the glass. He poured himself a glass of amber. The liquid burned pleasantly as he took a seat. Setting the glass aside he reached for the envelope. Tearing the paper in half. A chip fell onto the floor, clattering with plastic sound. The purple SD memory card lay an inch from his shoe heel. _Follow through with a reply. You can even do it over the compound's internal link system if you have to. _The woman was crafty, but here was the catch. Had her words been a warning not to use computers linked up to the compound's internal networks, or had it been a warning to use a computer with network link up. Sighing, Leon picked up the little chip. What could something with this tiny of a memory space hold? Computer without a network link up it was then.

A knock sounded on his door. The chip was quickly deposited in his pocket and the glass refilled before he answer the door. There was no one there. No one was in the hall either when he checked. Goddamn. Briefly closing his eyes Leon let the door shut. Now what? He could already see countless hours of PTSS counseling ahead of him if word got out he was hearing things.

"You worked too hard for something this tiny," A voice commented behind him. Hand going for a gun that wasn't there, Leon spun. Sitting backward on his desk chair was the red head from the cites. She took a slow sip from his liquor glass. In her other hand a small plastic chip played about her long, tapered fingers. "This is good," she purred, the rough edges of her voice had been smoothed over by the amber drink. "But I like…reds…better." The word 'red' flowed from her mouth like a premature kiss, sloppy but contained, as she set the glass down on the table top.

"What exactly is your purpose here?" It was the first thing that came to mind… She smiled at him, the same man eating smirk from before.

"Isn't it obvious?" Her green eyes laughed. Her body movements-from the slightest of twitches to the way she held herself-was languid. It was unnerving to see her so at ease in another's personal living space.

"Not interested," and that was the final statement on that. He took a seat on the bed, gesturing towards the door. "Don't let it hit you on the way out."

"Didn't think you'd be," She quipped back, her smirk had lessened. "People like us don't know how to turn it off." The candid nature in which she spoke belied the truth of her words. He paused for a moment.

"Excuse me?"

"Turn it off," She repeated carelessly, as if that clarified everything. "We don't know how to relax. How to stop thinking about what needs to be done. Driven, I think, is a word they use to describe people like us." He was at a near loss for words. She still sat backwards in his chair. Her long legs were straddling the seat and the skin tight leather didn't leave much to the imagination. _Come to think of it, how the hell was she able to move around in something that tight?_ Fortunately the training kicked in awfully damn fast.

"Look, I don't know how you got in here, but you need to go. I'm not interested-"

"Shut up," The woman interrupted him, her voice hand cooled from honey warm to brittle sugar. "If I gave a damn about rules I would have made some human man a _very_ satisfied father of many, many children." Easily she rose to her feet. It was a fluid motion; one that put every one of his remaining nerves on edge. "I need your assistance."

"Is that so?" Leon leaned back. The woman forced another smirk, the same man eating one as before, as she leaned forward to level her face with his. She gave him the perfect view of her well developed breasts. With a flick of a hand, she held up the memory card.

"I can only assume that this is meant to be discreet."

"My personal effects are none of your concern." He was cool. He feigned indignation. "Look, I'm not really interested-" She fixed him with her green eyes, cutting him off mid-sentence. They bore into his, unblinking and hard.

"You play a good game," her finger tips touched his knees, "but you're playing with the big kids now." Her hands were nimble, digging into his pocket with the purple memory card. Surprised at her agility, he reached for her wrist as she withdrew only to come up with air. Rayne moved, too fast for his eyes to follow. He reacted on gut instinct alone as her steel spiked shoe landed on his left shoulder, throwing him down hard onto the bed. His hand stung were it hit the wooden frame and his head came inches from hitting the wall.

She held him at bay, her leg stretching over his body as she lowered herself. Even with both hands he couldn't move her foot. The pain in his shoulder was dull, not nearly so bad as it should have been. Rayne didn't quite straddle him, but came damn near to it. Her other foot was anchored to the ground. She bent in a way an Olympic gymnast would be envious of. He could see that any man would be a happy father of any number of multitude of children with her. However, his shoulder was bleeding from her heel and he had no desire to touch her let alone father anything.

"As I said before, you have something that needs to be discreet."

"What do you want?" He demanded, hand clenching. He was still wearing a knife. It was at his ankle damn it all. She purred, chuckling to herself.

"You're precious, handsome. What do I want?" Rayne repeated, musing to herself. "I want the same thing you do," she replied, that man eating smirk on her face. "Access to a private computer and some discretion." Those baby blues narrowed, taking her in. Easily she cocked her head to the side, one of her blades casually swinging open, revealing the cruel curve of the hooked blade. She fidgeted with the blade, picking blood spatter off of it.

"When?" So accommodating…and cute too…how delightful… She was aware of her hunger, but she had enough restraint to leave alone that which could be made of use.

"Now."

"Not possible." She grinned at her blade. He wouldn't cower under the threat of death. She liked men like him. She liked woman like that too. She liked anyone who didn't give in. The blade went away.

"I didn't think it would be," She released him, returning both feet to the ground as she backed away. "Until you can secure access to a computer, I require discretion."

"You call this discretion?" Leon demanded, shoving himself up into a sitting position. She considered him a moment before backing off to the chair.

"I'm being nice," Rayne murmured more to herself than to him. She gave him her full attention. Her green eyes alighted on the man. "You know I'm not going to take no for an answer."

"Pretty demanding, aren't you?" Leon countered, easing slowly away.

"Don't do it," She commented, watching him.

"Don't do what?" She was on him, her face inches from his. He had never seen her move. She pinned his arms to the bed, immobilizing him with a body that had to be 90 plus pounds lighter than his own. Her eyes did not so much as watch him, as watch his body. Watched his shoulder, more noticeably.

"I'm hungry," she said simply. She made a show of drawing back her red lips. Small ivory knives protruded from her mouth. "Put the knife away." His gaze strayed to the blade, unsheathed by half an inch. He believed her. Believed she was crazy. Believed he might also be crazy. Well, that or he was hallucinating.

"What do you want?" He asked again.

"I'm hungry. I'm tired," she replied, not releasing him. "I need to rest. I need to feed. I need a computer. In that order."

"Feed?" He asked, knowing in advance that he wouldn't like the answer. She smiled then. A genuine smile, he noticed. The canines in her mouth were larger than they should have been.

"I need rest more than I need to eat," she spoke softly.

"And?" his voice was quiet as well.

"Your bed is soft. You will have access to a computer, eventually. You could be useful with other things as well." She wasn't smiling any more. "Normally I wouldn't hesitate to kill a human, but you're a useful human. A brave man as well. We can benefit each other."

"I hardly see how."

"Help me," she said simply, releasing him. "I will repay you in kind." She backed away though only inches this time.

"You have nothing I want," Leon retorted stubbornly. He had a feeling he could repeat himself over and over again, but the woman wouldn't be leaving any time soon.

"So?" She purred. "Do you need a reason?" Her eyes were playful and yet she was too close.

"You want to borrow my bed? Then use me to gain access to a computer to do who knows what," Leon commented. "Disregarding any favors, I still don't see how I benefit from this."

"You live," Rayne said. "I don't feed on you."

"Not good enough," He replied flatly.

"I know," Rayne said, her eyes lilted as she tilted her head to the side. Slowly she drew a hand up. Taking a small item nestled in her bodice. It was a USB drive. "I have the same objective as you. There is information on this. I need to access it. I was interrupted earlier." He waited, but she didn't volunteer any more information. With a sigh, he leaned back on his bed, forcing himself to relax.

"There are civilian bed down near the cafeteria," he said flatly. An eyebrow arched on her pretty face as she approached him. She caught his gaze as she leaned over him.

"I don't want a bed by the cafeteria," she said softly. A lilting sound entered her voice. It wasn't so much that she spoke in a playful manner. Rather it was a quality in her voice, a raspy hypnotic sound. Something that demanded to be heard. Hypnotic? That was certainly a word for it. Despite his unease with her close proximity, it was her voice hat provoked his discomfort. Her voice compelled him-commanded. Every time she spoke it was as if she was bribing his senses. "I want a secluded resting place. I want to rest here."

He blinked, taking her in. When she wasn't speaking that weird feeling her voice carried with it faded. In fact that was it: her voice had been making him dizzy. Weird.

"And I want a rocket launcher. Sometimes we don't get what we want." With that he rolled over onto his side. Resolutely, he ignored her.

Blinking Rayne straitened, somewhat affronted. He was immune to her. Immune to her _Influence_. That simple verbal suggestion should have put the man on his knees begging to share a bed with her in the most platonic way imaginable. Yet there he lay, his back towards her, clearly not making any effort or offer to share. _Impossible_. Well… She regarded the still healing bondage scars on her wrists. She _was_ weakened. A sly smile curved her mouth.

"A rocket launcher?" Rayne asked, amused. "I hope you're not compensating for something." She moved, heading to the doorway as Leon rolled onto his back once again. His mouth was open to speak as she left. "I'll be back, handsome. "

She returned not more than twenty minutes later. He was half asleep when she returned, staring at the ceiling of his quarters. The door to the room slid open soundlessly, the pale light of the hallway flooding the darkened room, silhouetting her curvy figure. The lights snapped on, detecting motion as Rayne stepped into the room. The door slid shut behind her. Blinking, eyes adjusting to the sudden light exposure, Leon was slow to make out what it was she carried.

With a dull thud Rayne let the heavy backpack settle on the ground, leaning it against the bottom drawer of his dresser. Unshouldering the long metal tube, she set that down along side the bag.

"You're shitting me," Leon said. Rayne flexed her shoulders.

"You asked for a rocket launcher," she said pointedly, a smile on her mouth.

"There has to be at least five security checks between here and the armory," he started, still staring at the rocket launcher and the spare nuclear heads she'd brought with her. "How the hell?"

"Are you sure you want the gory details?" She cut him off smoothly, her hands going to her hips. The pose showed off her finely honed blades. Come to the think of it, how had she kept those weapons? There were metal detectors at each security check. Leon shut up for a minute, thinking.

"Just a bed," he said finally after a few minutes. He'd need to keep his eye on her. She was probably another 'Other' just like Star, Vergil, and the two in the holding bay.

"For now," she replied.

"I don't want the details, but why not the cafeteria beds?"

"Too much…temptation," she replied. Her tongue lingered on the word temptation. Or maybe it was his imagination that lingered too long on it.

"I have a few conditions," He said finding his tongue once again. She raised her eyebrows, waiting expectantly. "Loose the blades and I'm not promising you anything in the way of computer access." A smile lit up her face. A real smile this time. Not the seductive smirk that promised mischief or the maneating smirk of pride. It was a real smile.

"Afraid I might bite?" she purred, covering her honesty with more banter. Her pallid fingers moved like spiders over her arms until the heavy blades fell to the ground.

"Keep your hands to yourself and we won't have any problems," Leon retorted dryly. His shoulder still stung from the light cut she'd given him. Considering the kind of physical power she was capable of it was impressive his shoulder was still in one piece. Scooting over on the bed, Leon rolled onto his side, facing the wall. Her footsteps were light as she crossed the room. The light snapped off a moment later. Her weight barely stirred the mattress as she lay down. Ignoring her presence, Leon was quick to fall asleep.


	52. Time Immoria The Endless

**Raziel**

He'd infected nearly 100 fertilized embryos with the AS virus. Of the initial batch, only 50% of them survived the infection. They were maturing far more quickly than any normal human embryos ever would. Already they displayed the characteristics of 8-week-old fetuses. Small nodes for the hands and feet were clearly visible. Some were making initial minute movements while others had small hallows where eyes would eventually develop, should they live that long. The embryos had been infected and fertilized only a mere 48 hours ago. Their development was unprecedented, however there were no standards for growing a mutated child that Raziel knew of. He could only infer the AS virus was speeding up the artificial gestation process. Before him the fetus tank stood. He'd opted to move his experiment to the labs provided in the containment wards. Should an unspeakable atrocity be created, there would be measure to prevent it from spreading to the rest of the compound.

Humans born with the AS virus as part of their genetic code-they would be unnatural to say the least. It was literally in their genes. Raziel expected them-those few fetuses before him who would survive-to be short lived. If their life processes were anything like their gestation period thus far. Their blood however, would contain the antigens necessary viral immunities for the thousands not so lucky to be born as they were. This was the buffer needed to soften the AS virus for normal humans. As it was, the chances of survival for any number of the remaining embryos were beginning to look grim. The infection had gone awry in ten of the fifty remaining embryos, as displayed by their already misshapen figures. He suspected the misshapen embryos were not long for this world.

"What are you doing?" a voice made Raziel pause in his ponderings. Turning he saw it was the human-the man, Mike-he had shared the laboratory with. His beard was scraggling and a distinct, offending odor wafted from him. How had this man tracked him to his lab?

"An experiment," Raziel replied evenly, readying himself for a barrage of questions. Raziel had already observed Mike's tenacious appetite for understanding the mysteries about him. The matter wouldn't be settled with the human until his curiosity was satisfied.

"Really? Look whatever it is, it's setting off my electrometric readers from here," Mike said. He held up a small electronic box with small bulbs lighting up on it. "Something that can put out that much electric current has to be incredible. Most humans generate less than a half a voltage of electricity, but whatever you have over there is generating nearly 15 ohms. Would you mind if I took a quick peek at-"

"If you must," Raziel said with a breath. "Though I hardly think you'll find a peek enough to satisfy your exceptional curiosity." Mike chuckled as he approached.

"You sound like a character out of a video game."

"Beg pardon?" Raziel raised an eyebrow. "I seldom have the time for modern entertainment."

"Ah, I mean you're well spoken," Mike retorted, scratching his chin. He leaned over, his face nearly pressing against the fetus tank's glass wall. His face gave away to puzzlement. "Are these…are these embryos? How far along are they?" Mike rubbing his chin again; his thick fingers stroked the scraggly beard. "I haven't had a biology class since high school."

"Who can say?" Raziel responded. "It is an experiment after all."

"Whoa, wait a minute, you're experimenting on _human_ _embryos_," Mike said surprised. He took a step backwards. "Does Hunnigan know what you are doing?"

"Your understanding of biology seems understated," Raziel sighed. "I did not say they were _human_ embryos but yes, Ms. Hunnigan knows. I was commissioned by the government of the United States of a America to create a vaccination against weaponized diseases," Raziel paused, frowning at the developing embryos. "These embryos will contain necessary genetic anomalies from which immunities can be extracted. They are a necessary existence."

"If people find out they were saved through genetically altered humans, they'll be picketing from here to Sunday," Mike exclaimed.

"I understand the moral and social mores I have treaded upon," Raziel began.

"You didn't just tread on them, you took your scientific boot and beat them in ass," Mike interrupted. "They'll crucify your career if this reaches the light of day."

"Do you think those who have lost a precious one to the infection would object to a cure?" Raziel said patiently. "Are you going to make it your crusade to expose the evils of the government?"

"Hey man," Mike raised his hands in mock defeat. "I am one of the evils of the government. I don't care what you do, but…"

"But?"

"Would it be possible to collaborate?" A nervous grin was barely visible beneath Mike's bushy mustache.

"How so?" Raziel was cautious but not suspicious. Mike would not be the down fall of this experiment. He already knew this. As an angel it was one of the Truths afforded to him.

"I'm getting readings I haven't seen in a while on this," Mike pointed to the multi-meter in his pocket. "I'm guessing those embryos are far from normal."

"They are infected with genetic anomalies that make the weaponized T-Virus, G-Virus, and Uroburos Virus so deadly to the human immune system."

"So they're weird then, right?" Mike scratched his head. Raziel sighed.

"Yes, they're different from normal human embryos."

"Right, so can I take a quick reading every now and again? I'm just going to measure the amount of electrical current running around the embryos. Would it be possible to chart the readings to add to my data?"

"So long as you do not negate the development of the embryos." A huge grin lit up Mike's face.

"Sweet. That's awesome man." Mike was already playing with his multi-meter. "Hmm." The small machine beeped. "I can get the rest of what I need from the electric bill. I'll let you know my findings when I complete them." Raziel nodded his agreement as Mike turned away and slowly crossed the lab, intent on the multi-meter in his hands.

**Sarah**

**Containment Ward**

Sarah kicked at the wall with one of her heels. Her head hung over the edge of the small cot, her legs stretched up the wall. She stared blankly at the overhead light before her gaze traveled to the man resting on the gurney on the opposite side of the room. He had only woken up once or twice since he'd been haphazardly pushed into the room with her.

Even upside down the man looked pale. Some nurses had come in and wheeled him away a day ago. He'd returned not more than three hours later with fresh bandages on his neck and an IV baggy hanging over his head. Every couple of hours a nurse would come in and check on the old man.

In all the activity, Sarah had managed to sweet talk one of them into bringing her a Sudoku puzzle and a pencil the size of a toothpick. Both lay on the cot next to her, the puzzle half done. Sarah stared at the old man as he slept. It had been nearly a month since Lor had been outside the window asking what her choice was. Dismissing the thought, she scratched her short and spikey hair. It had only been a month but the cue ball look was already gone. In its place an auburn field of inch long grass had risen. It wasn't long enough to do anything other than be a nuisence.

Sighing, Sarah rolled onto her side and sat up. With a yawn she rose from the cot, making the bed chains rattle quietly. The man's breathing was raspy but even. It filled the room as she tiptoed her way towards him. Sarah leaned over the gurney rail. The man had a little paunch to him, a stomach that made a rise in his bed sheets. He had grey hair and a face lined with hardship wrinkles. They were more severe, perhaps, because of his dormant state.

Both of the man's hands were chained to his gurney rails. She remembered her own wrists had been similarly bound when she'd first been admitted. Scratching her fuzzy head one more time, Sarah leaned over the man. He didn't look like a flesh eating zombie. He didn't even have any bit wounds on him. Unless his neck had been one…

Glancing out to the bare hallway, she inched closer. No way was she going to be trapped in a room with a man who had been bitten. Gently her fingertips brushed the bandaging at his throat. She peeled back at the medical tape. The man stirred, grunting softly. Sarah froze, taking a still breath. When he didn't wake, she continued to slowly peel back the medical tape. When the last of it came free she peeled back the white gauze. It took a lot to keep from recoiling.

On the man's neck a large wound had been stitched up. It was a neck wound. What in the world? The man swallowed hard, coughing gently. Gasping, she looked up to see the dark eyes of the old man watching her. Caught red handed, she froze for a moment before clumsily replacing the gauze at his throat.

"I-I'm sorry. They brought you in here two days ago," she said hastily, backing away from the man. "I just wanted to know if you'd been…um…bitten. I don't want to share with a zomb…um…I'm your cellmate," she finished lamely.

"Where am I?" the man's voice was a raspy shade of pain.

"Underground?" Sarah hazard. "Um…there was an um…thing with diseases? Like the one that happened at Raccoon City, you know? Were you there? In the cities, I mean." The man didn't answer her questions, instead he cleared out his throat. When he spoke next it was obvious that it pained him to speak.

"Is there water?"

"Ah, hang on, I'll try getting a nurse." The man had drifted off to sleep by the time a nurse came in to check on him. Sarah was effectively shut out of the nurse's conversation when they checked him over. Sighing, she returned to her cot, eavesdropping as she pretended to complete the Sudoku puzzle. At least the man wasn't a zombie….yet…


	53. ETAP

**Hunnigan**

"You got my message," Mike's face brightened as he pushed away from his work.

"Have you found anything new?" She asked. It had been a week since the biohazard outbreak in the twin cities. Every spare man effort was being put towards environmental clean up and damage control. The press was in a feeding frenzy and they were fueling a panic ridden public with as much information as they were misinformation. A second biohazard outbreak in as many months did not put the government in a good position. The president was busy attending press and UN conferences in an attempt to flush out the possibility of foreign terrorist threats. Meanwhile global agents were fishing for leads with out any luck thus far.

"Well I've taken a brake on my other projects to complete the E-TAP experiment," Mike commented, rising to his feet. Mike motioned with a beefy hand for Hunnigan to follow him through the lab.

"E-Tap?" Hunnigan asked.

"Electromagnetic-Thermal Apparition Phenomenon," Mike clarified, "E-TAP for short. I'm waiting on some results from the readings we took before I can make any conclusive steps in my research." Mike paused, half turning to Hunnigan. "You don't think you could get them to fight in the name of science could you?"

"Excuse me?" Hunnigan asked, raising an eyebrow. " 'They'?"

"The freaks-er, those people who put out the high thermal and electrical emissions," Mike said.

"They are not to be referred to as freaks," Hunnigan said quietly.

"Right 'cuz flipping through the air nearly thirty stories up over a street filled with infectees is normal," Mike muttered. Hunnigan's nails dug into his shoulder making Mike jump. Surprised he turned to face her.

"Listen closely and listen well. What I am going to say next is both an order and suggestion as a friend," Hunnigan spoke in a quiet, urgent voice. "Those 'freaks' as you put may well be our very last defense against an oncoming wave of terrorist bioweapon attacks on US soil. We already owe a great deal to those 'freaks'. You will show common curtsy and respect to them while in their presence and while removed from them." Hunnigan gave him a stern look. "If any one of them wanted us dead it would take less than the time to configure simple math equations for them to murder every individual in this building. The _only_ reason they are here and behaving their manners is the exact same reason we brought Raziel here: they want a cure as badly as we do."

"They?" Mike repeated incredulous. His skepticism made a good mask for his surprise. "You're giving me a lecture and you don't even call them by their name? They're not even human!" Mike exclaimed quietly. Nervously he glanced about –none had heard his outburst-before continuing. "I've seen their med charts. You have two of them unconscious, locked down, and drugged up in the basement and you think me calling them 'freaks' is going to detonate that bomb?"

"They are called Otherkin," Hunnigan hissed, "You will address them as so unless other wise introduced. And those two in the basement are an exception. We have consent from family. They are a danger to themselves as well as others. They are infected. As I said they need a cure as badly as we do, until then we need to gather as much information as possible." Mike sighed, running a hand through his shaggy beard.

"You're telling me these fre-," he paused, opting for different wording. "That these 'other people' have families? I thought there were just one or two of these people running around. How many are there?" Hunnigan pinched the bridge of her nose.

"That's a need to know basis. I'm considering upgrading your security clearance," she said. Straitening herself, Hunnigan crossed her arms. "That depends on what your experiment's results however." Baffled Mike blinked, staring at her. His hand dropped to his side.

"Are all women this illogical?" Mike asked. "First I should mind my own business but I still get rewarded for being a genius. Not that I'm complaining about the security clearance." Mike cracked crowned his fingers, cracking the all at once. Hunnigan considered.

"You won't be given that high of a clearance. Other than that, I have no idea, although I suspect men and woman can be equally illogical in their own ways." Shaking his head Mike turned, gesturing for Hunnigan to follow him.

"Anyways, I showed you that video gathered from the field agents during the Twin Cities operation. Taking the electrical readings from the rooms your pet other people have been staying in along with thermal electric readings of _normal_ humans, I've been able to create a scale."

"A scale?" 

"Yes. A way of measuring a person's E-TAP. Basing the beginning point of the scale on a normal human-you, me, anybody- any outlier can than be measured. Right now I don't really have a measurement system for the scale-its mostly ball parking estimations right now. The mathematical computations equations aren't quite completed yet. I haven't done much in way of making this functional, but I was able to map the readings I had. Take a look."

A colored bar graph popped up on the computer Mike was leaning over. He enlarged the window, before throwing the image up onto a wall projector.

"What am I looking at?" Hunnigan asked, studying the graph.

"That small green line, that's a normal human reading." Mike pointed to the second smallest line, a yellow colored one. "That yellow line is the light bulb readings for both Star and that blonde woman-"

"Trish," Hunnigan cut in.

"-and the white haired guy-"

"Dante," Hunnigan filled in again.

"Star, Trish, and Dante when they're at rest. That reading is an average of their collective scores, so to speak. This next line," Mike pointed to the purple line. "That's a normal human under physical activity. Notice the spike of the thermal activity makes the whole reading go up for obvious readings." The green, yellow and purple lines created the base line of a pyramid, each line overlapping the one beneath it and extending further along the open space of the graph.

"What are the next two bars?" Hunnigan asked raising an eyebrow.

"The red one stands for Star and the amount of energy she was putting out during the twin cities operation. The blue one stands for the quiet, creepy guy-Vergil-and the amount of output he had during the twin cities operation. Remember this is extremely early work. None of these readings are completely accurate, nor should they be taken as fact. I haven't gathered enough data on any of the subjects to make the research valid"

"According to this Star and Vergil are both putting out nearly twenty times the amount of energy as a normal person."

"Ah, that more like fifty times the amount of energy in Vergil's case, but you get the idea." Hunnigan stared at the graph.

"What is that black bar for?"

"It's the amount of thermal energy a nuclear bomb gives off," Mike said. The blue line and the black line were the exact same length. "And you told me not to call them frea-" Hunnigan cleared her throat.

"If you gathered more data on otherkin subjects could you theoretically be able to determine their capabilities using this graph?"

"Is Yoda green?" Mike asked. Hunnigan paused, gracing Mike with a detatched, puzzled look.

"Yoda who?" Mike sighed, shaking his head.

"Yes, I could make this a lot more useable if I had more data. It needs a lot of work though. I didn't have very much data to work with."

"Good. You'll be getting some personal artifacts from the two in the basement. Weapons. Test them to gather some theoretical data points on energy output. I'll attempt to get several subjects to spar for you as well."

"Spar? You mean fight?" Mike asked. "Isn't that a bit extreme?"

"You need data from situations were the physical exertion is high, correct? It'll just be a matter of convincing several others to participate. They say presentation is ninety percent of the overall grade. "

"Say what?" Mike asked. Puzzled he looked to the graph.

"I will also forward you more video footage, make use of what you can. You have my permission to be crafty and sneaky." Hunnigan turned to leave. She hesitated. "Oh Mike?"

"Yeah?"

"I'll only say it once more: Manners are essential when dealing with the others. We already had one staff member committed to an institution. He is undergoing psyche evaluation.* I don't want to see the same happen to you."

"Ah, right," Mike said, watching as Hunnigan left the lab. He shook his head, quietly whistling to himself. He looked to the graph. "Crazy. They're all nuts." Mike chuckled to himself after a moment.


	54. Beast Mentality

**Touched by God**

The fabric of your flesh

Pure as a wedding dress

The saints can't help me now

The ropes have been unbound

I hunt for you with bloodied feet across the hollowed ground

-Howl, Florence + The Machine

**Kain**

It was dark and he was empty. No more voices, no more others to control. He was left dangling, spinning in the wind like broken kite. There was no more demand on his troubled mind. The expansion of his servants had exceeded his expectations. He remembered tearing apart a human limb from limb, hearing her plead and cry as his own flesh was peeled back layer by layer. He remembered pillaging a car, rocking it back and forth until it tipped over, crushing its occupants and feeding on yowling parrot at the same time. He had been up and down, and left and right all at once and been immobile at the same time. He remembered, with searing clarity, the _hunger_. The endless _Need_, so much more insatiable than his former craving for blood. Vampires were no strangers to hunger, but this type of urgency made even the longest nights he had survived nothing more than a whispered jest, a half hearted rambling of a poor comedian.

Once he had been born an arrogant prince, a human ruler of a principality lost to history. His kingdom-his meager town-had been situated in what was now known as modern day Russia. Back then, cannibalism wasn't uncommon among the peasants, but he had thought himself above starvation, above the needs of the common person. He was a prince born with the ambition to match it. His town was not large but his land holdings were vast. He was a wealthy man by any era's means. Every meal was a feast, every night a different wench lay in his bed. Though his town had been small, it was along well-traveled paths. Many a wanderer came to pass time at the doorstep of his kingdom.

One night a traveler came to his long house at the advent of winter. He remember very little of their first meeting, even now after so many centuries, but her eyes had been a tilting blue-near amethyst-color and her skin was the cool soft white of milk. She was a beggar woman, dancer by trade, whore by need if that was what it took to survive. He'd seen her type before, had enjoyed the company of her type before, or so he thought at the time. Her eyes were lined with kohl. She beguiled the peasants with her outlandish ways. It didn't take her long to make herself a home among his people.

Foolishly, naively, many of the peasants thought the traveler a saint with the healing touch of a god. A relentless plague was eating through the fields and homes of the people. It had yet to touch the royal household, although many were afflicted. When the saint-dancer arrived, the pestilence stopped. No matter what the peasants claimed, he refused to be swayed. To test her powers, to taste of her holiness himself, he bade her dance in his long house. The traveling woman obliged. When the saint refused to be seduced by his touch, he sent her into the winter night, stripped of her belongs. He sought not only to shame her but to expose her charlatan ways. She was not a cure to the illness-many had failed to notice the culled out weaklings and their husk-like bodies drained of all blood. He knew her for what she was: a liar, a thief, and a whore. Or so he thought.

The saint survived the night only by kneeling at his feet and begging for forgiveness. She bore false witness against him however, and upon his bed later that same hour, split his neck and drained his lifeblood. That night Kain was made a vampire. The one he sought to control, in the end, defied his will and destroyed him body and soul.

Somewhere out in the darkness someone was talking. He could hear their voices, smell their sweat and body odors. He knew their sex to be female.

"The solitary is being used?"

"There was a biter. We had to sedate him and isolate for further observation." The second woman lowered her voice. "He tried to bite both a nurse and cell mates."

Kain thought about the act of biting. Of the nourishment he needed and of the new Hunger and its new Need. He remembered drinking the blood of his mother that first night he had changed. How he had cradled her head against his bare chest and drank deeply, the rest of his mother's body had lain against the cold cold floor of his room as the woman with dark colored eyes watched. He had slain his father in the same manner. He remembered eating the flesh of humans of his city. Back then, his hunger had been maddening, too much was never enough. He remember their many screaming faces, remembered their souls-teaming with life-as he consumed them. In the end he had been cast of out his princely abode, sent to wander the world in darkness. By the time the peasants revolted against him, the dark eyed woman was long gone, slipping away unnoticed in the dark of the night.

So many voices and memories washed his senses, stole away what little sense of time his immortality had left him. Unfamiliarity that wasn't native to his own mind was obscuring what he knew to be true. He knew things about his newly eaten servants no vampire lord could ever know about any he had turned. The intimacy of detail in the personal lives was that of the grainy touch of sand against one's heel. Every facet was felt in his soul. He knew how each and every one of them died and how they had lived. He knew instinctively which one of them had liked cheap sex or classical mozart, which ones had died with a warrior's bravery or a coward's squirm, which of them tasted better in the consumption. That detail, he recalled with particular vivid detail.

Vampiric thirst. His mouth watered, bringing him back from his dazed mental wanderings. Kain giggled, something he had not done since his time as a child of 4 summers. He needed blood. More than that the new Hunger called. He wasn't just hungry for blood, but for souls. The feel of them, squirming to be free, to migrate back towards life. He wanted more than flesh to feast upon. He had assumed to know hunger. His assumption was but a fallacy. He relived the dying faces of his servants. He savored them the same way a connoisseur would enjoy an aged wine. The memories sustained him in the same way the experience itself had shattered him. The curl of a lip in terror and disgust, the blank dull look as one died. The limp feel of the body when the soul was a part of his web. And now, his web was eternal…

In a small corner of his mind, where rationality still reigned, Kain was aware that he was losing his sanity. He was no longer simply a mere man turned vampire. He was vampire graced with godhood. So much had been shown to him. They had multiplied so fast. He had lost control of the web, allowing it to grow beyond his span of understanding. He could do it again. He would do it again. He _needed_ to eat. To survive. The _hunger_ demanded his physical body in a way the blood thirst never had.

Hissing Kain bit into his wrist, savoring the salty feel of blood gushing down his throat. He giggled again as he drank deeply. Just as he had those centuries ago on that cold winter night, when the saint had transformed him from human to vampire. He had sat on the stone floor of his room, half naked with his mother laid across his lap as he ripped her throat out. Her blood had spilt down his legs and splattered across his chest. He had made such a mess. He felt a similarity betwixt that night and this long, never ending one. His mother's black hair had cascaded down his arm as he held her, muffling her screams with one of his hands. In the darkness, where she couldn't be seen the dark eyed one watched him. Had she ever been in the room? Had the traveling dancer-saint ever existed in the first place?

Dismissing the notion, Kain drank of his lifeblood. Wishing for the Hunger to appease itself and wondering, when and if, the sun would rise again.


	55. Conspiracy Theory

**Lor**

Groaning I opened my eyes. For a minute, I laid languidly, idly considering whether it would be worth the effort to rise. The world's most age-old and futile battle ensued. Needless to say, I rolled over and nuzzled a pillow.

"You've slept for five days." The information came unbidden and unwelcomed. Growling I pressed my face into the pillow. "I can smother you with that pillow if you're so inclined to immobility." It was of course, a casual offer and threat all rolled up into one.

"Killjoy," I groaned, talking into the pillow. There was no response to that. With a sigh I unearth my face. "Who the hell let you into my room?"

Vergil's back was to me; he was pulling on another black shirt. I got a brief flash of the scar wrapping around his side. It started-I knew-on his stomach and twisted around his right side, ending in a jagged line at his lower back. The faric of the black shirt fell in place, cutting off the view of Vergil's only battle scar. Somebody had lent him a pair of jeans, which made Vergil look more human that he actually was. Apparently he had just gotten out of the shower. Vergil gave me a solid look, turning to me.

"Who said this was _your_ room?" He replied, running a hand through his hair. In one moment Vergil ceased to be his twin and returned to the hedgehog headed prick we all knew and despised.

"Mmm?" I squinted, looking about. "This is your room?" _How the hell did I? _

"You ate enough to put three grown men out of their salary, you drank several more under the table before igniting an all out brawl. I was specifically called to ensure you didn't hospitalize anyone. That was after you passed out in the cafeteria," Vergil said flatly. "You're banned from the cafeteria for a month and permanently banned from speaking with any military personnel not previously associated with your situation."

"Is that why my head hurts?" I asked dumbly. Wow. I don't remember any of that. With a low rumble Vergil crossed the room. I was smart enough to get moving while the getting was good. However my arm buckled, pair flaring throughout my shoulder. My legs ached every time I moved them. Stumbling I fell face first into the bed mattress. _Cute._ I had forgotten the pain of dislocating the shoulder joint. Vergil peeled me off the bed before dropping me unceremoniously on the floor. He stood over me with crossed arms.

"You disgust me," He said flatly, "Not even Dante would stoop to such filth." I stared up at Vergil. I think that's the first time he's ever said his brother's name without as much disgust as he usually does. Vergil's expression however, made up for it, as he worn stern revulsion and detached stoicism in equal measures.

"That's different from any other day how?" I think I may have lost brain cells before passing out. I reacted instinctively, flinching away from Vergil as he reached down. He pulled me to my feet with a handful of hair. His voice was an annoyed hiss when he spoke next.

"You smell like the musk of other men, cheap booze, foul cigarettes and decaying human hubris," Vergil growled. "For five days you refused to be roused. For five days I've endured your stench." Vergil yanked, jerking my head to the side. "I will _not_ put up with your flippant sarcasm." With that Vergil released me, holding the hand he'd used aloft with distain. I eyed him, rubbing my skull. It was like Vergil had a damper on him. He was still a violent jerk but it was like his heart wasn't in it. Well that or I was getting used to him again. "You've caused me nothing but undue hardship," He continued, sinking onto the bed.

Was Vergil a soulless bastard? Who knew? I ground my teeth together. No, wasn't about having a soul. I know that better than anyone, but excuse me? The words 'Hardship' and 'Vergil' didn't mesh. Someone like Vergil, who always seemed to have his shit together, couldn't suffer hardship could he?

"Well thank you for your services, Lancelot," I said with a small yawn, ignoring the dull pain from the hair pull. "I don't really remember what happened truth be told. You probably kept me out of trouble." _I guess this one time its okay to let it slide. I'll get the truth out of you sooner or later Vergil. The real truth. The reason you 'chose' me as your partner. The reason my family had to be sacrificed. The reason I was sacrificed. One day, with that mouth of yours, I'll make you say the one thing I want to hear: the truth._ Leaning down, I gave Vergil a quick peck on the cheek. He looked to me, suspicion and annoyance etched on his face. He was tense and disgusted. He made no effort to hide it. Sometimes Vergil is too damn aloof for his own good.

"You want something," He said sharply. It was another question/statement. Like always, Vergil had hit the nail on the head, not that he had any idea what I really wanted.

"Just your bathroom," I said with a smirk. "You left a clean towel right?" Vergil raised an eyebrow. Ignoring him, I crossed the room.

"As you wish little human," he said. "Although one would think you'd take liberties elsewhere."

"Was that English just now?" I queried, throwing the question over my shoulder as I snapped on the bathroom light. "You know, sometimes its like talking to a shakespearian play write. You _can_ talk like a normal person. You've done it before. You don't need to be a demon overlord when you're blending with us pathetic humans." Vergil's eyes were smoldering embers of ice when I turned to face him. He was a moment before talking.

"You're a liar, Lauren," His voice was soft. "How could you be considered human?" I could still feel the hard stabs of stubble against my mouth from kissing his cheek. Vergil leaned back, elbows propping him up. There was a poised ease to him. That deadly expectant air emanated from him. "How could someone like _you_ know anything about being human?"

"Well, I learned from the best," I said smoothly, forcing a bright smile. "You're one hell'uva mentor when it comes to inadequet truths, eh Verg? That's what you'd call a lifetime of expierence, right?" With that I closed the bathroom door. He wouldn't bother me, at least not yet. I had probably just bought myself some time. Even if that was all I had now, more was always better than less.

**Leon**

He slowly made his way down the hallway. A small computer room for general use-namely contacting family and friends-lay down the way by fifteen or twenty feet. His knees still shook occasionally though the food had helped. Breath labored, he paused, leaning against the wall. For her part Rayne was silent, watching him with critical eyes. Leon sighed, returner her dead stare, his back to the wall. The food had done enough to balance him out although he was far from full tilt yet.

"You're quiet," he said.

"I'm impatient," she replied, glancing up and down the hall. Green eyes licked him up and down. "You have a strong heart." Another enigmatic comment. She made them from time to time. He had a feeling it wouldn't be worth it to comment on it.

"You're still showing me everything you have." Leon nodded to the USB in her hand. Rayne gave him a feline grin.

"Most men demand that after a while," she approached him. Rayne invaded his space, laying a hand on his arm. Her fingertips were warm, almost hot. Leon shook her off, regaining his balance. "I could be useful," she said after he took a shaky step or two. "I could be useful to you." Ambiguous words. Intentionally ambiguous words. She did that a lot too.

"You want to feed off of me," Leon replied. "Not interested."

"Yes that's true," Rayne purred, a step behind him. "You taste good Leon." He chose to ignore the comment. "But its more than that. I can't feed in a limited community like this. Not as freely as I would like. Someone will notice." They reached the computer lab. Leon saw it was empty as the automated lights switched on.

"You already have what you want," he slumped into the chair of the nearest computer. The monitor before him was blank. "What in the world is keeping you here other than the USB drive?"

"You have no idea what I want," Rayne said smoothly. "Besides, I doubt I'll be going anywhere. You did submit a report." Leon looked at her reflection in the darkened monitor. He jiggled the mouse, waking the computer.

"You thought I wouldn't?" he asked. She thought.

"I'd be surprised if you didn't. You're no coward." Leon logged in. This entire lab was disconnected from the rest of the compound's network. Nobody wanted to know his buddy's dirty secrets. Easily Leon inserted the USB drive Hunnigan had given him. "I'm surprised you compromised yourself in the process however," Rayne continued, "apparently you're an honorable man. Your breed is a dying one."

An icon for the flash drive appeared on the desktop. Leon clicked on it. The USB contained only one item. A program. With a double click the program executed. Leon sat back and waited.

"Is your life so different now?" Rayne asked gently, her mouth hovering by his ear. "How does it feel to be a test subject for the people you trusted?"

"About the same as being a meal ticket," Leon replied evenly. Rayne laughed softly.

"You don't care if I see your precious information?"

"I doubt I could stop you if I wanted to," he replied. Leon returned his attention ot the program. Hunnigan's pre-recorded image opened up in a fresh window.

" 'Leon this is the latest on the viral vaccination our hired scientist has been working on. Familiarize yourself with his work. I have been comparing the anticipated vaccination with prototype 13-the viral sedative Raziel came to us with. Something isn't right. There a huge genetic variation in the vaccination enzymes and the sedative P-13. We need to know where this additional work came from. Its not possible to engineer a vaccination for a weaponized virus in a month, single handedly. I suspect Raziel has done some black market dealings. I am following leads regarding Raziel's past, but it hasn't been easy. There may be some field work for you. We'll talk later after you've gone through the data.'"

With its message completed the window closed. Several new windows popped up in its place. Microscopic images of both the sedatives Raziel had arrived with-Amplyfy-and the improved sedative-Quietus-lined side by side. The images themselves clearly demonstrated the improvements and the mutations the sedative had gone through. A final window opened, showing the image of Raziel's still in development vaccination. The difference between the final image and the first two were staggering. They looked nothing alike. Their elements-listed in the images-were very different as well.

"Interesting," Rayne said. Leon spared her a look. She was hovering over his shoulder again. She was close enough to kiss if he wasn't careful. "You're not going to ask?" She smirked, never taking her eyes from the monitor. Leon sighed.

"What do you find interesting?"

"I've seen this before." A pale delicate finger touched the final image on the screen. Her nails were crystalline and tapered.

"In the cities?"

"Clever boy," Rayne purred, running a hand through his hair. Leaning over him, she stuck her own USB drive into the desktop tower. The USB icon came into being as the computer read it. "Click on it," she commanded. Leon obliged. A new and fourth window popped open.

Leon gaped. The gears were turning the mental output was minimal. Slowly he moved the mouse, dragging the windows into chronological order. Or-as Leon assumed-what must have been chronological.

"Where did you say you go this?" Leon asked.

"The cities," Rayne replied, the shadow of a satisfied smirk in her tone. He was too disturbed to say anything. On the monitor four windows showed the progressive mutation of what could have been the same sample. The growth-the progressive cellular mutation-was just as evident as the cell structures.

"Where in the cities?"

"It'll cost you," Rayne purred. Leon's look was sharp. "Not at the moment," she promised with a hyena's honor, "but it will."

"…" Leon didn't say anything. Instead he closed the windows on the monitor. Two personel entered the room, talking about their ipods. He ejected both USB drives. Silently Rayne followed him out of the computer room.

"I'm holding onto this," he said as he slowly made his way down the hall.

"That will cost you too," she purred.

"You'll take what you with or without my permission," Leon said harshly, clenching his jaw for a moment. Her complete disregard irritated him.

"Is that what I really want?" she asked, playful. He was frustrated with the coy vampire and understandably so. The man who had undergone numerous security checks and duped them. Raziel was in bed with the enemy. How else could the viral samples and the vaccinations be based off the same thing? This was a nightmare. Worse still, he was under quarantine until Rayne's status as friendly or foe checked out. It would be impossible for him to follow any leads on Rayne's lead. All this and it seemed as if it was a game to the vampire. Rayne hadn't taken her eyes off him since they left the computer lab. Now he could feel her gaze boring a hole through him.

"I don't care about whatever game you're playing," he said, controlling the anger in his voice. He put his fustration into his movements, forcing his weakened body to walk normally.

"I think you do care," Raye said. An undercurrent of blunt honesty mired the teasing note to her tone. Leon stumbled tripping over his own feet in his haste. Rayne kept him from falling. She cosied up to his side, slinging his arm over her shoulder. The people passing them in the hall didn't give them a second glance.

Rayne wore borrowed army fatigues, but they did little to cover up her true nature. Or maybe, it was more like Rayne herself did little to blend herself in to her surroundings. She had left te upper most buttons undone, allowing any who cared to see a nice view of her bust. He was surprised however, to find her supporting him. Leon knew she was strong. With long legs and a curvy figure to boot she could be down right intimidating. Leon sighed, feeling the angry buzz in his head die away to confusion. Rayne simply didn't make any sense to him.

"What did you want?" he asked dully. Rayne glanced over to him as they continued down the hall. His head hurt and his breath was labored. Rayne chuckled. It was a malicious sound. She looked to Leon, a dark menance in her eyes reminded him of a Death's Head Moth. She was beautiful but eerie, unsettling.

"I want the only dish best served cold." He stumbled again, falling heavily into her. Rayne supported him with ease, unflinchingly. He recalled the heavy scarring on her neck and wrists when she had cut him loose from the infectee. As well as from the night before.

"It's a deal," He said as they turned the corner. "You're giving me everything though. I'm not a cheap date." Rayne purred, her green eyes slid to meet his. Her mouth was a lush grin. The tip of her tongue played with a fang.

"It'll cost you."


	56. Deus Ex Machina

"Cursed is the ground for your sake. Both thorns and thistles it shall bring forth for you, til you return to the ground. For dust you are and to dust you shall return."

Genesis v. 17-19

"I am Alpha and Omega, the beginning and the end. I am the one that is, that was, and that which is yet to come. I am the Almighty."

Revelation 1:8

**Raziel**

The fetus had reached full gestation. The artificial amniotic fluids that housed the fetus was a chemical cocktail of various contagious, mutagenic samples of the various viruses government agents had recovered in the past ten years. The lone fertilized egg that had survived the AS exposure was now developing additional immunities during its final stages of gestation. It was the only survivor of the viral recombination process. A machine born human with white blood cell powerful enougt to fight any man made plaque; the child would be a scientific breakthrough in the more than one field.

From his position behind the plexi glass partition, Raziel watched as a lab technician in a yellow hazmat suit cautiously approached the gestation tub. The tub itself was nothing more than a large, industrial grade fish tank with feeding tubes, hormone regulators, and vital statistic machinery hooked up to it. The fetus free floated in a specially developed balloon, just barely visible through murky grey amniotic fluids. To the outside observer, the amniotic fluids looked about as pleasant as they were to the well-informed observer. Worse yet, the fluids emitted a strong stench that now permanently saturated the air of the holding room. The ventilation air filters were changed on a daily basis to keep the smell contained and the air recycling throughout the rest of the military base free from any pheromones the child may have been secreting with each breath.

The technician began to drain the grey fluid by turning a release valve located near the bottom left of the tank. Slowly the level of the fluid sank taking the sac that held the fetus with it. When no more fluid remained, the technician removed the side of the fish tank facing him. By then a second technician had entered the small room, pushing along a cart laden with birthing tools. The first technician, turned to the writhing sac laying on the wet surface of the fish tank. Taking up a scalpel, the technician began to cut away at the synthesized flesh of the birthing sac. As the floppy layers of were peeled away, the second technician used a small water bottle to clear away excess amniotic fluids. In a few short minutes, the sac lay cut open, revealing a perfectly formed male child. It took several seconds for the technicians to cut away the umbilical feeding tube at the child's stomach. Carefully holding the child upside down, the second technician gave the boy's bottom a good smack. A feeble cry ensued.

The technician's cleaned the child off, dressing it in warm, clean blankets. Meanwhile a third technician cleaned out the fish tank and laid down a new layer of warm dry bedding. The child was placed back inside the cleaned tank. His little arms flailed and his voice gave cry to the new world. Though all this Raziel watched solemnly.

Ash, The newborn's name, was an acronym designating his purpose in life. ASH, Anomaly Synthesized Human; it was fitting. A god among those without viral tolerances, a god among those who dwelled in the realm of the humans. The world was already unstable. Numerous viral plaques were devastating a first world nation. Those events, as tragic as they were, could only be catalysts for what was to come. It was only a matter of time now. This child would violate the remains of the Accord. Free will was an illusion, Fate was absolute. The fate of this child had been determined by the outcome ten years ago, and had began during the great Celestial Wars nearly seven eons ago. Before him the child wailed, exercising a healthy set of lungs. the technicians were examining him for any defects in health. Even at a distance Raziel could see the small clear nubs-more like sharpened cones pushing out from the child's gums. Not even an hour old and still the child continued to grow. With a breath, Raziel took up the syringe and needle. Easily he reached for the gas mask next to them. Pocketing the syringe and needle, he slipped the mask on.

Raziel entered the room, waving away the technicians silently. Taking the syringe, Raziel gently felt Ash's infantile limbs. They were well developed and far from lacking. The child continued to wail, pulling his arm free from Raziel's grasp. The child was strong, but that didn't surprise the elder scientist. The needle sunk into the child's heel, perhaps the only safe place to draw blood. The child reacted to the pain the same way any normal child would. His cries intensified. When the syringe was half full, he released Ash and set the blood sample aside. The child continued to grow at an alarming rate. Already ASH resembled a child of several months, rather than one of several minutes. Soon the child would need to be fed, however the matter of sustenance was a disconcerting one. What did a child such as this eat? Or rather, feed upon? Was the child crying for blood or milk?

The child continued to cry, now in the care of the technicians once more. Heating lamps were switched on over the child, warming him artificially in the place of a human mother. Raziel left the holding room, blood sample in hand. The blood would be analyzed first before tested on human and non-human subjects. Raziel considered for a moment. There were available subject-both human and human-like that could be used for field testing. If they survived the antidote, then the creating ASH would be a success. If they didn't-or rather the antidote had the opposite effect, it turned them into raging, soulless drones, then both them and the child would be destroyed with prejudice.

Raziel took a seat at his work station, his hands were lightning on the keyboard. Soon a list of a detained contaminated civilians appeared on his screen. Raziel narrowed his search parameters. He smirked as several names became highlighted. Of the hundred and twenty three names that presented itself, a scant eight met his narrowed search parameters. Of the eight names, six were classified as 'Otherkin'-the governments new system of classifying any uninfected life form that wasn't strictly human. He knew every one of the six, if not personally then by reputation. Of the six, three were sedated, their immunity systems unable to accept either the virus nor the viral counter measure of Amplyfy. Raziel singled out the three names of his future test subjects. They would not be pleased to know they were test subjects, should the experiment be a success. They would not have many family members to mourn their deaths either. Raziel erased his search after saving the three otherkin names. He began a new search. The same list of a one hundred and twenty three names displayed on the screen. Raziel narrowed his search until he found exactly what he was looking for. Three human subjects with little or no known ties to family or others. He leaned back, saving the three human names as well. Six chosen subjects would serve to demonstrate the safety of ASH's blood. Raziel leaned back. It was morally unethical to experiment on uninformed and unwilling subjects, he knew this. As an angel of Gabriel's house, he was doubly aware of the inappropriate secretive nature of this experiment. Raziel folded black nailed fingers. The scrollings found in the skin of every angle flickered into existence as he let the glamour mask of humanity slip from his person. It had been several years since he'd allowed his true nature come to surface.

It had taken him a blood trade to a rouge fey to learn the feyish magic of glamour. The deceptive magic had allowed him to go undetected among the humans in their own government. The black scrollings trickled up his fingers, playing around them like amused children. They would not stop their constant wandering across his body until he fulfilled his fate. Angels were fate ordained creatures and it was the same for all of them. If there were others of his kind that had survived the years. Raziel watched the scrolling in his hands dully, considering them. Their language was all but forgotten to him, and their images, while familiar, meant little to nothing to him. There was no use in keeping one's mother tongue alive when there was none left to speak it to. How similar in nature it looked to those of corrupted black lines of infected. They wore brands, he knew, that they would never be free from until their true death. Same as himself. There was a knock on the door. Quickly the glamour fell back into place. The magic was not as strong as it had been before, but his office was dark. It would conceal the imperfections until he could spare a minute or two to perfect his mask.

"Yes?" he asked. Hunnigan entered the office, all business as usual.

"You created a test tube baby," she said flatly, to the point. Her mouth was a thin line. "The government doesn't condone human cloning."

"I've created a cure," Raziel motioned to the syringe on his desk. "As per your government's request." Her eyes drifted to the syringe and did not leave the small red tube. "If you wish for the child to be destroyed, I shall dispose of him. He needn't be spoken of again." At that her gaze tore from the syringe to meet his.

"That's unthinkable," she said, crossing her arms. Raziel drew up both hands to hide an annoyed curve of the mouth. He brooded on that.

"Have you seen the child?" he asked. Hunnigan straitened her back, meeting his gaze again.

"I don't have to condemn what I haven't seen," she said. "This conversation never happened." A small shudder ran down her back. She was uneasy, that much was obvious. Discreetly, Raziel however his hands, resting them on the arm rests of his chair. He leaned back, aware now, that the glamour was not nearly as strong as it should have been. Hunnigan was seeing through it, whether she consciously recognized that fact or not.

"I will take care to ensure the child never is seen," he offered. The sentiment did little to calm her. Without a word, Hunnigan turned and left the room, leaving the palpable scent of suspicion behind her.

**Kain**

He spasmed, body writhing. Again his mind was expanding beyond the finite and coils that bound consciousness. He could feel it, rising and breaking through with the thrust of a man dying for thirst. Desperation, confusion, anger, and a numb coldness alien to even the aged vampire's heightened senses assaulted Kain's mind. These emotions were not his. Rather Kain was a receptacle for them, an outlet for them to be vented upon. The feeling of utter intrusion within the sanctity of his own mind felt, Kain was sure, akin to defilement. There was simply no blocking out the constant stream of commanding images and that Voice. No matter how he struggled against the rising tide, the Voice took over, consuming him.

To the casual observer, Kain appeared epileptic. He had been reacting for the last several hours. Nurses were watching him, performing mandatory check ups every ten minutes or so. He did not acknowledge their existence. Was not even aware of them.

Instead, Kain heard an endless scream of agony now laced with confusion. The Voice was wearing itself out, getting weaker. The command it held was abating. Kain was slowly regaining control over his own mind again. The feeling of repulsion he had for the Voice, for whatever or whomever it was, vied for a spot against the traveling saint in the darkest corer of his heart. The Voice was what he had desired to be, what he had been, what he had lost. To be made subservient and a weaker person for it, sparked the arrogant aristocrat within him.

It would come to be the turning point for Kain. Between himself and the Voice, he built a wall of anger, of protection, and of righteousness in the fact that Kain was no commoner. That he was a lord and would be equals with this Voice.

The writhing pain of his limbs abated as Kain's breathing slowed. For the first time in two weeks, Kain opened his eyes and was aware of the world. Pulled back from the brink by the Voice, the idea of it insulted his already devastated pride. Fury fueled him as he sat upright, however there would be time for that later. A vampire had nothing but time. Fangs hard against the fleshy insides of his cheeks, Kain arose to his feet, more creature than man. He was hungry and the need to feed upon human blood filled him. The light sound of footfalls stopped just outside the door to the room he was in. Saliva flooded his mouth as the warm scent of blood filled his nostrils. The Voice and its owner would be dealt with, but first, Kain would feed.


	57. Shit Gets Broken I

FuuuuuuuuFuFuFu…. Insert graphic content awareness sticker here. A little bit violent and dark for me as I'm actually a little uncomfortable posting this here (mainly because it makes me go 'owie') That said, enjoy Vergil during one of his finer sadistic moments. :D Oh the woes of a dark ruler….

* * *

**Vergil**

The gateway to hell greeted him, the destroyed antiquity far different than it had been previously. Romanesque columns tilted and falling to ruin, a classic symbol for the mission of hell-to ruin all-now lay in utter ruin itself. The blood river that greeted all rippled as Vergil tread across the threshold. The chittering laughter of slinking Frost demons resounded in the emptiness. Ice hung from the now dilapidated columns. The white marble was stained black from a fierce flame, parts of it shattered and in pieces on the ground. A battle had been waged here. The victors had survived, the losers were scattered about the arena before him. The decomposing corpses of infected demons lay moldering in the blood of sinners. He ignored it, all of it. They had been weak enough to contract the plaque, now they were dead. They didn't matter and if they had, they certainly didn't now.

Instead Vergil let go of the human mask he wore, allowing his real self to come to surface. A demon's continence, complete with horns and red ember eyes, allowed the Frost demons to see who their real visitor was. The dark black of Vergil's demonic skin matched the shadow of hell. The snickering laughter cut off abruptly. Self-assured, Vergil-Lord Nelo Angelo of Hell-pressed on, traveling to the heart of his kingdom by foot. As he walked, he surveyed the wreckage the internal war had left strewn about. In the sky blood-goyle's wheeled, circling over the pits of carrion where those lifeless bodies decayed.

The few pitiful hundreds of plaque survivors had withdrawn to the heart of his domain. Gothic spirals towered, obscuring the red haze of the hellfire in the sky. Vergil approached the summit of his throne, a castle built into the very ground. Black wax candles had been lit within the great hall, several fields beyond the entrance. The crowds of survivors separated, making way for him in reverence and demanded obedience. A hush fell over the crowd as he ascended to the throne. Easily Vergil sat in a high backed chair of thorny ebony. Broadsword easy at his side he surveyed the damnation that was his heritage with a cold, uncaring eye. Everything he had ever desired, ever dreamed, lay before him in cracked and broken pieces.

They were a motley crew-his servants and soldiers-ragged and worn from the tides of war against the dead. Just as the humans culled out their own, in times of need demons had little compunction to do the same. The only difference would be that humans didn't take to it with a liking the same way demons did. Sharp teeth leered at him, wild eyes glared taking in every minute detail of his visage. Vergil leaned forward, an elbow on his hand. All of them he knew, without a doubt, to be weaker than himself. He was lord supreme here. None dared to dispute the fact.

"The humans are weak," he began, his voice carrying in the silence. "They can not adapt as we have, their guardians are stricken. Our numbers are less, but _we are legion_." Vergil rose now, standing. Those closest leered in bloodlust. "We are one in our desires. They are ignorant to our forces." He paused. "Tonight hell celebrates. We usher in a new era. In a fortnight, we march on the human realm." Vaguely, he recalled his predecessor making the same such announcement. Of course Vali had met with failure, he had seen to it, but it was startling to repeat her very words himself, not more than 10 years to the date after her demise.

The outcry was cacophonous. A thousand feet stamped the ground, a thousand hands rose in the air, fists clenched. There was no plan, only the desire to destroy what had been denied for so long. A thousand, thousand years had passed since demons were last free to roam the human realm. The great Sparda had separated the human realm from the demonic one. Vergil would see to it that his work was undone. It was his father's legacy he sought to destroy. He would be a greater demon that Sparda, he would be more powerful. His fate would be his own.

"Might," Vergil's voice rose. "Take what you deserve."

"Might!" The cry came back, a wall of sound.

"Strength. Keep what you have taken."

"Strength!" The echoes reverberated the very air. They were few in number, but they were strong. They were, as he had said, legion.

"Control your fate. It is in your hands."

"Control!" The foundations of hell shook. The blackness of hell never seemed as dark as the joy of his followers. In the palm of his hand Vergil held hell. Those weak of mind danced to the jerking of their strings, as puppets were ought to do. They were expendable, all of them, and he would sacrifice them to obtain what he desired.

Even hell itself was expendable. It meant nothing, if one could not protect one's own interests. The demons were frenzied. Some with lust, others berserk with anticipation. More than one orgy was breaking out amongst the ranks of his army, of his legion. Vergil turned from the scene. It did not interest him. They would carry on in excess until oblivion over took their minds. Two weeks and the timing would be right.

The humans assumed biowarfare to be the cause of a quickly growing pandemic. They would never suspect the disease to be born from demon corpses polluting their water sources. When dealing with such human incompetence, it was easy to topple their ineffective governments. He would corrupt the government systems from the inside out. Every chance was an unguarded opportunity to observe the way they operated while laying his own plans. They would have a cure soon. Then his legion would be invincible and it would be as she had asked. He would have his freedom one way or another. In the end, the ends justified the means, even if an entire race had to die out for his desires.

Vergil crept down a long hallway. Ten long years he had been shackled by another's desires…no for far longer than that he had been servant to others. First Mundus, second Vali, then third to death, struck down by his own flesh and blood. It would end, he would die a free man-a free demon-and he would sacrifice any to gain that freedom. He did not fear continued service, but he hated an existence bound to another's will. Once it had been his dream to gain power. The cruelty of the world had shown him, time and time again, how truly weak and insignificant one's own power could be. It was so close, his desire, that if it had been possible he would have described the feel akin to drunkness. However, demons didn't get drunk on mere human liquors.

"My lord," Nevan's crooning voice preceded her pale figure. The demoness emerged from the darkness, her skin alabaster and the curves of her figure impossibly perfect in its imitation of a human's. She approached him quiet as a shadow. A pallid hand danced at the spaulding armor upon his shoulder, fingertips playing over spikes. Nevan came closer, her butterfly touch traveling to his chest. "Would you feast with me my lord?" Nevan's smile was alluring. Shadow fell from the curve of her hip, revealing flawless flesh. The demoness smelled rank of decay. She was far from healed, her soul arm was still regenerating her body. Nevan was little more than an animated corpse. The thought of coupling with Nevan soured his mood.

"Words can hardly express," Vergil retorted, stepping past her.

"I'll treat you, my lord, as royalty ought to be," Nevan purred. Her full breasts jutted, the wave of her hair concealing just enough to make a lecherous man piqued. She was swathed in amorphous shadows. They moved only to reveal what Nevan believed to be important, namely those shapely assets she was so willing to offer up to her lord. He was not piqued in any sense of the word. Instead he was revolted.

"Know your place Nevan," He growled. Nevan giggled softly under her breath. Her annoyance was obvious, however, as her eyes flashed violet. She wanted him under her thumb.

"Oh my, of course. You prefer to be on top, do you not?" Nevan chuckled, her voice mocking. "Just as you dominate the humans?" She sought to amuse him, however she was only serving to piss him off. "You were born of humans were you not? Would you prefer me to be one for you my lord? You satisfaction is my _only_ concern, my lord."

"Is it?" Vergil said evenly, sardonic. An idea was forming and it was a cruel one at that, but a satisfying one all the same.

"Do I not interest you?" Nevan asked, miming innocence. "Have I so injured your pride Lord? Would you like to see a real human? Perhaps that blacked haired girl? She would be a treat would she not?" As expected, the demoness rose to the bait, her pride at stake. Nevan should have left Lauren out of it. A savage kind of satisfaction twisted in his gut. He would enjoy this. Turning he met Nevan head on a solid fist made of his hand.

Her frail body was thrown to the side. On her stomach, coughing, Nevan grappled at the craggy stone of the wall. She rose to her knees, reeling from his blow. He approached her coolly, unhurriedly. With a hand, he pinned her neck to the wall, pulling her to her feet. Her hair was coarse to the touch and the stench of decomposition grew stronger with each breath. Nevan's exposed back and the rest of her naked body lay open to him. Her shadows were forgotten when faced with such a powerful attack against her person and her aura. Had Nevan been stronger, she would have been able to fend off such a simple assault. As it was, she was going to learn the hard way what it meant to ignore her ruler's wishes.

The sharp edge of his broadsword came to a gentle rest between her legs. The soft curve of her rear kneaded the blade edge. He put pressure on the blade, not enough to break the skin, but enough so that the demonness would know what it was. Nevan gasped, choking. She did not struggle. She knew better. Her palms were flat against the wall as she panted. The spicy smell of fear saturated her scent now. Vergil relished in it.

"Do you not like foreplay?" He mocked her. The blade sunk softly deeper and higher between her legs. The point of the blade traveled upwards, cutting through the wall like paper. It became less of a mere threat and more of a reality. Nevan quivered in fear under his hand. The tip of the blade continued to arch ever more slowly upward.

"Forgive me lord, it was not my place." Nevan's voice was cracked and rushed. She was panicking. He drank in her fear like an elixir.

" 'Forgive?' " he asked. What a curious word choice for a demon to use. "Didn't you say you would treat me nice?" The blade rose higher, cutting flesh now. "I thought it was your desire to be impaled tonight. Won't you satisfy my needs?" Blood flowed from between her legs. Slowly, methodically, and mercilessly the blade kept rising until a river gushed down onto the ground. Nevan shrieked, her blood flowing down the broadswords edge to coat his hand.

"No more, no more. I serve you and no other. I was impudent. Spare me Lord." The blade continued its cruel assent upwards.

"Understand now what it means to lay hands on my possessions," he snarled in her ear. "Know what it means to displease me. I will not repeat myself again Nevan and I will take the price of any further impudence from your body."

"Forgive me, I did not know!" Nevan screamed, her nails were dragging troughs in the wall. Blood pooled around their feet. The blade still went upward.

"That human is mine," He said clearly. The blade pushed through her abdomen. "If you so much as whisper her name or acknowledge her existence I will end you in a manner more painful than this." Nevan screamed, her head thrown back as he twisted on the handle of the blade in his palm.

"Forgive me, forgive me." Demons could not cry. Only humans were blessed with tears, but demons could feel misery. Nevan was by far a miserable sight to behold. Disgusted he threw the aged whore aside roughly, flicking the blade free of her blood. The blade was spoiled as was his hand. Nevan-incapable of anything other than a few staggered gasps-only looked to him horrified her hands shaking as she felt the ruin of her body. She dared not meet his gaze. Instead she was quick to continue groveling on her stomach. "Forgive me. Forgive me."

"You dare call yourself a demon." Vergil turned away disgusted, wiping his hand on his pants as he went. He was half the way down the hall when it hit him. That strange niggling sensation. That same feeling as then. A pulling in his center. The phantom memory of the smell of cigarette smoke and that sweet, musky smell of sandlewood met his nose. He knew that scent all too well. Urgency, foreign to his own current state, clawed at his gut, reaching out through his aura. He was needed in the human realm. Just as well, he had no desire to fend off more of Nevan's kin. With a sigh, Vergil let the demon within go into hiding once again, donning his human skin. Coiling aura within a palm, he tore open a barrier rift, allowing him entry way into the human realm.

The scene that greeted him was staggering. Little Laurn was out of control, yet not in the way she had been a week ago. A week ago Lauren had been a bumbling drunkard with a perchance for making stupid bets with even more moronic humans. The woman she was now was a savage, raving berserker. Lauren straddled a struggling figure, screaming in a shrill voice. Her fists flew with voracious fury. Along her arms black markings were slowly emerging. Blood ran from her nose and mouth, but she didn't heed them. In fact she didn't heed anything. She was caught in a wonder lust of violence.

Snarling, Lauren's victim raised a blade, impaling her right fist. Nearly a foot of the arm blade went through her hand before Lauren even noticed. All but ignoring the pain, Lauren threw the defensive measure to the floor, twisting the vampire's arm at an unnatural angel before continuing to pummel the red haired woman. Lauren's aura ran rampant. From where he stood he could see her eyes glowing ethereal. Screaming Lauren's victim struck with the other blade. It glanced off her shoulder as Lauren hooked a finger inside of the woman's mouth. Slowly, methodically, teeth clenched in anticipation, Lauren began to pull upward, her finger nail cutting through the red-head's cheek. Skin tore like fabric as Lauren enlarged the other's mouth painfully.

Snarling he lashed out. He had seen enough. Lauren needed to be controlled, if not for her own sake than for the sake of those around her. He'd only seen her lose control like this once before. Ten years ago, her unrestrained anger had destroyed the object of her fury.

He crashed into her, sweeping both of them off their feet. Hitting the ground he rolled, taking her with him, until he locked her into a pin. His aura touched her skin, wrapping about her person. She was an electric high to the sixth sense and sent spiders crawling against his skin as she fought against his imposing will. Her aura was muted, but its effects could still be felt. Lights in the room flickered with the excess energy Lauren was giving off.

"Be still," He growled. "Be calm Lauren."

The vampire glared at him as she rose, blood gushing from a broken nose and a half Glasgow smile. Lauren trembled in his grasp. Yet despite all this, the thread of satisfaction he'd felt in hell was back and it was stronger than ever. It was all coming to a head, all of his carefully laid plans. The scrollings in her arms were slowly fading. Something was stirring in vast world. The bargain he'd made years ago would come to fulfillment. Freedom-if it had a taste-would be the salt of Lauren's perspiration on his lips. The smell of it would be a mixture of cheap shampoo, cigarettes, and Lauren's elusive scent. That which he had traded his soul and existence for was becoming a reality, after a decade of biding his time. Soon his fate would be in his own hands, and he would use Lauren to gain what he wanted. Be her a friend or foe, she was as expendable as those fools in hell, but truly the only bit player he would not and could not do without.

Snarling, he glared at the vampire. How dare the bitch attempt to lay hands on his damnable human gambit? Had not Lauren so successfully destroyed the vampire's pride, he would have done more to her. Not only that but now the human-Hunnigan-was suspect to Lauren's dual nature as well. He growled lowly. Lauren struggled against him, whimpering. First he would deal with Lauren, then he would discover what Hunnigan knew. He eyed the vampire. She was the only real threat to his plans. He growled again, out of irritation. The vampire could be dealt with. For now though, Lauren came first. As she always had.


	58. Shit Gets Broken II

You're so cynical, Narcissistic Cannibal

Got to bring myself back from the dead

Sometimes, I hate, the life, I made

Everything's wrong every time

Pushing on I can't escape.

-Korn, Narcissistic Cannibal

**Lor**

Backing up I stumbled. Rayne drove forward with her counter, the tip of her blade nicking my hand as I attempted to dodge her blow. The cut was shallow but a fine one. Blood welled up just beneath the pinky and spanning the length of my palm. I ignored the pain and droplets of my blood trickling down my arm. The wound was already healing, a bit slower than normal for me, but healing all the same.

"You're slowing down Lauren," Rayne smirked, her green eyes laughed sadistically. The sexy curves of her body moved lithely across my sweat ridden vision. Panting, I attempted to slow my thundering heartbeat. I was already panting, a droplet of sweat trickled from my temple. We'd been at this round for about fifteen minutes. It was the end match of three, the tiebreaker. The only reason Rayne and I were crossing paths was due to Hunnigan. Hunnigan tracked me down four hours ago, asking for a favor and promising several packs of Lucky Sevens in return for it. The government shrew had me hook line and sinker. I was out of cigs and hungry for nicotine.

Three hours later, Rayne and myself were the participants of some weird ass experiment. It had been explained with pretty scientific jargon, something to do with measuring bio-electric signals. The only part that had made sense was the part that compared it to a shark looking for fish in the sea. Humans had to stay in giant metal cages to cancel out their bio signals. Without the cage, the shark would sense them and they'd be fish food. Shark Week on the Discovery channel had explained it better than the multi-diploma scientist did. Essentially, they were doing the reverse with the experiment. Instead of canceling out bio signals, they were enhancing them. This was done with rubber bands coated with metal. Again there was more fancy jargon, more overly specific explanations that made no sense at all.

What I got out of it was that any amount of bio-electricity would be monitored. The more bio-electricity we gave off, the more the metal on the rubber bands would heat up. Hell if I know why, though. I stopped listening halfway through that lecture. In either case, it had taken Mike-the technician stoogie- two hours to get all the rubber bands in place and his tech synchronized up with them. During the past two matches Mike had sat back with a hand held device, monitoring his readings. He was even recording the match between Rayne and I for further use. The experiment was making me nervous. I knew from the darker parts of my shitty childhood what happened when a lab rat failed a test.

I had no idea at the time, what would come as a result of Mike's research. If I had known that Mike-a man I had met not more than three hours ago-would become the father of technology specifically dedicated to eradicating people like me... I wouldn't have shook the guy's hand for starters. Nor would I have agreed to the match. I might have even punched Hunnigan for good measure. Instead, I did what I always did, followed the greatest payout of the moment. Lucky Sevens were usually not worth the price tag. Here I was getting them for free, provided I knock the tar out of Rayne. I was out of sorts enough to take on that challenge. Vergil had disappeared once I had finished with the shower. I hadn't seen him for nearly a week...I had to wonder where he was and what he was doing.

I took a breath. My shoulder tweaked, as I centered myself. Rayne was more right than she knew. I wasn't just 'slowing down'. I was damn near exhausted from a simple sparring match. Granted we were using real weapons. Sweat matted hair to the base of my neck. Rayne circled, nearing my flank. I watched her warily, blinking sweat from my eyes. For her part Rayne was chill. The flesh eaters had treated her with more hospitality. She didn't have a shred of the wear and tear I had.

A flicker of silver drew my attention, Mike was shifting his hand held device from hand to hand. He looked up to me, surprised, and for a moment our eyes met. Rayne took advantage of my attention lapse and pressed her advantage. I raised Rudra narrowly blocking the cruel curve of Rayne's left arm blade. Rudra did nothing to block the spin of a gyrating right blade. The breeze of that meat grinder breezed past my face as I dropped to a knee, avoiding having my head chopped off.

Mike cried out, saying something, but his words were lost in exchange of blows between Rayne and I. I rose, driving my knee forward. Rayne slinked out of the way, parrying Agni with well-toned leg, shoe combo. She drove the blade to the floor, the edge of Angi wedged between her stiletto heel and the sole of her foot. I was forced to either drop the sword or break a wrist. As Agni hit the floor, Rayne cartwheeled backwards, the tip of a foot catching me in the chin. The teeth rattled in my skull from the blow. I reeled, off balance and in pain. Blood flooded my mouth. The kick had been mostly superficial but I had bitten the inside of my cheek.

Rayne continued her onslaught, caught up in a blood fury. She charged, the tip of her left blade ripping through the fabric of my sleeve. That cut too, was shallow, yet deep enough to draw blood. Red dribbled from my bottom lip as I moved to counter her. Agni's handle was slick with my blood as I leapt, opting to knee Rayne in the face. A redundant move and one Rayne anticipated with ease. She sank lower, her legs possessing the elasticity of a rubber band as she split them spread eagle. Like an idiot I flew right over her head, landing a pace away with my back to her. I whirled turning to face her, only to be knocked onto my back, a spiked stiletto at my throat. Rayne's glare was a gloating one.

Half choking, half-snarling I reacted before I could think better of it. Curling, I kneed her in the back of the leg. Rayne was momentarily surprised, losing her balance for only a moment. It was my turn to take advantage. I rolled, pulling away from her pin. I was now at Rayne's side and rising. I was at her blind spot and I smelled blood.

The world blacked out instead. Rayne's dainty sexy stiletto hit me square in the back of the head, bashing me face first into the ground. I dropped like a rock. Somewhere in the blackness voices were talking, maybe even yelling. I felt the dig of metal from Rayne's stiletto on my shoulder. With a toe she flipped me onto my back. Dazed I glared up at her. Rayne was cool and triumphant as she stared down at me. There wasn't even the sheen of perspiration on her deathly pale skin, although her porn star boobs heaved with each breath.

"Had enough yet?" Rayne asked, smirking. The tip of her blade nicked the underside of my chin, drawing more blood. She licked her lip like a cat with a bowl of milk, the tip of her tongue pink. My shoulder ached. My face ached. More than anything my pride ached. I was seething, a cauldron of anger and indignation. "The rumors were more striking than the truth," Rayne continued, she leaned down, lowering her voice. Her face turned inspective. "What happened, Lauren? Did you really die that time?" _How the hell? _Rayne laughed, her voice smooth silk. "How pathetic," she continued, "You should have-" I didn't hear her. Instead, breathing became difficult.

I felt a painful breath catch in my throat. _Did you really die that time?_ Surprise and devastation rocked me. _How did she know?_ I could feel myself sinking inward. The words she said then drove away the nights and days between the present and what had been ten years ago. I tried not to think about it, every day I tried to block it out. Memory was a horror movie in loop and Rayne had cut the reel, letting me step into the past the same way a person might step into a building. _I've heard that before..._

'_Have you had enough yet?'_

'_What happened Lauren? Did you really die that time?'_

For the first time in a long time, I lost it. I completely and utterly lost it. Not just my temper, but maybe even some of my sanity, like I had back then. Even now my memory of then is a hazy, tricky thing. That time is as elusive as smoke in the wind. It is hard to know with certainty what really happened, but _I remember_ Vergil and _I remember_ most of our conversation then. What she said, _what he said_, took me back. Back to _that lonely cliff_ and the _freezing wind_. I could hear the _crush of waves_ on the _craggy rocks below_, more _rhythmic_ than the _thundering diastole_ of _heartbeat _in my ears. _The wind was chilled against my exposed skin._

_Snow, nearly half a foot thick pressed under foot. Inches more fell from the sky in a cascade of white fury. What light that could be had from the blood red moon peeped between the inky blotches of clouds and glared down on sharp snow crystals. Beyond, through the howl of wind, Vali could be heard, her lamentation one of rage and despair. Death was overtaking her in the churning abyss the ocean had become. I didn't care. In fact I was spiteful. I hoped she suffered painfully as the long intrusive fingers of death pulled her away from life, eating away at her unnatural body born from stolen souls and corrupted blood. Angel of chaos, she had been called. Dog meat would be her newest title._

My destroyed clothing hung in shreds and rags upon my body. Blood-some of it my own, most of it not-saturated the sweat and grim of my filthy clothing. Blood gushed from my side, a fresh wound there still healing. The crimson plasma flowed hot against my chilled, snow-dampened skin, coating my leg. Snow swirled crystalline in the darkness, dancing on eddies and swirls. The world glimmered in red and black and white, chromatic and primitive. The light and purity of the snow caught and held the darkness to itself, pinning it in place and immobilizing it. The chilled winter wind stoked the fire burning in my skin. I was high off of borrowed power, the power of a dead angel. Even with the aid of death itself on my side, it still wasn't enough to get what I wanted.

At my back, the edge of the cliff loomed. An impressive, sheer drop into an icy grave. The screams of its first occupant could still be heard, wrathful, bitter, desperate for company. That was my first option. The second option stood before me. His face, a stone statue masked in shadow, was all but impossible to see in the night save for the crimson glow of his irises. Those unearthly, terrible orbs stood out in contrast to everything else. A sheer white blade, his bloodthirsty inheritance, was held at his side. I crouched, down on one knee, recoiling from ou

r _last exchange of blows. I slid through the snow, cutting snow banks in half as my boot heels ground across ice and the rough layer of dirt beneath the snow. He relaxed the, blade dipping down to his side as he watched, waiting to see what I would do next. _

_Vergil was silhouetted, the blaze of the destroyed, defiled church behind him. New Light burned infernal. The wind carried the sounds of slain and dying demons and angels. New Light, once a corner stone of salvation for the city, was now a slaughterhouse. Through the tongues of yellow and orange, moving figures could be seen. They were nothing more than writhing shadows in unearthly agony behind a molten curtain. Burnt flesh was acrid, saturating what little breathable air there was to be had._

'_Have you had enough yet?' His voice was a low rumble, like thunder against grinding stones. 'Did you really die that time? How can you be dead if you stand before me?' I was weak-weaker than I had ever been before. My legs shook as I regarded him angrily. I could feel myself opening up to whatever font of power that had been given to me. It welled up, uncontrollably lethal yet placidly uniform in nature. The heat coming from my skin gave of wispy smoke like excess in the brisk fang-like winter wind. The black scrollings writhed, tentacles of black reaching within my skin. I was drunk with anger, high on power, and devoured with misery. Something had to give. I was hoping several of Vergil's bones would be the first of many things to give. _

_Snarling I rose. I would hurt Vergil for all he had done and all he had failed to do. I would hurt him like I was hurt. The pain was making my throat close up. Breathing, which had been a chore before, was nearing on the brink of impossible. My feet dug into the ground as I charged him. This would be the last time I would have enough energy to move unassisted, I would give it my all to cut him down. The wind howled, screaming. Each breath was a knife stab to my lungs. My legs, sore from over exertion, didn't fail as I pushed forward. Maelstrom cut through the air, whistling. He was near, so very near now. I panted. This was it. It would be last time.._.

The wind was knocked out of me and I was jolted back to the present. Someone was screaming, multiple people were yelling. Blood coated my knuckles in a warm sticky layer as I was flung backwards. A sliver of the room entered my line of sight before the world cut out. Before the blackness, I saw red. A lot of red. It coated the floor in a wide, messy arch. Splatches of it had been strew upwards onto the ceiling and droplets clung to the nearest wall. In the center of it, Rayne laid on her back, her bruised mouth nearly unrecognizable with a nose streaming blood. Scores of cuts lacerated her arms and shoulders. A handful of them looked deep and the ragged nature of all of them suggested that they'd been made with a blunt object-like nails-rather than the sharp edge of a fighting arm. The worst of it was Rayne's normally pouty mouth. A half Glasgow smile had been mysteriously cut from the right corner of her mouth and half way up her cheek. It was hard to tell where her lips ended and the would began. Who ever had been mutilating her had been disrupted in the process, because despite the blood, Rayne was beginning to heal.

Rayne was the focal point of my last look, but now the image of her was obscured by someone's hand. Around my waist, a band of iron pinned my arms to my side. My back hit an equally unforgiving chest. The final stroke was the hand-firm but strangely gentle-covering my eyes and tilting my head back onto that same person's shoulder. Although I wasn't struggling, I was more or less effectively pinned in place.

"Be calm," Vergil was whispering into my ear. "Be still Lauren." _Vergil_. Speak of the devil. I was panting. I realized that the voice that had been screaming havoc had been mine. Around us, Vergil's aura crackled, enveloping me in a wave of unadulterated power. He was controlling me, controlling the fact that I was trying to lash out at anyone and everything. I was, I realized, lashing out at everything and anything. I was out of control the same way a baby would have temper tantrums over missing a pacifier. My voice had died to rough whimpers. I heard Rayne hissing and snarling, her mouth forming words that were unintelligible until-

"Get off, bitch!" Rayne snarled. The sound of a person being thrown aside was evident by Hunnigan's soft cry of surprise and what sounded like a body hitting a wall. "I'm going to tear her fucking heart out and she damn well better survive it," Rayne's snarling voice was fast approaching, the sounds of her footfalls upon the ground were evident. The room-which had been expansive initially-was now chaotic. "Her ancestors are going to feel what I'm going to do to her."

"Stop, stop right now," Hunnigan's voice was shrill. "Mike, stop the recording. Get the fire extinguisher."

"Crod," Vergil said softly, going tense for a brief moment. The air shuddered and the temperature dropped. Rayne's advance was cut off abruptly

"Yes my lord," Crod's voice was a rough sound. In my mind's eye I could visualize the half crocidile, half humanoid demon. Strait from something you'd see on a national geographic special of Egypt. Crod had been-and still was-Vergil's servant. The long snout held rows of teeth and while Crod held himself up right, his clawed, scaley hands were enough to grip lethal weapons. "I've no desire to fight you," Crod's voice was servant like but detached, as if he were reciting something he always said. "However, it will be as my lord commands should you fail to comply."

Mike audibly yelped while the sounds of metal clashing rang out. Rayne swore, words that would make a nun turn purple, and Crod-I could only assume-did his best to prevent Rayne from her rampant. However, I was more or less oblivious to this. My heartbeat thundered in my ears. My mouth was dry. _Flash back_. It had been a flashback. I hadn't had one of those in so long. The cities, and before that, Hope, must have dredged it up. Every time I saw infected people, shit in my head started breaking again. I shuddered, continuing to reel in my insanely out of control aura. The sound of lights popping and the smell of burning electrical wires overlay the smell of fire. Along with Rayne and Crod's fight, afire extinguisher was sounding off, presumable putting out whatever fire there was. I shuddered again. What had I just done?

"Lauren," Vergil's voice was a command, a prodding. I was sitting on the ground, pinned, centered between his legs. Vergil was warm, pressed against my sweat slicked back. I shuddered again, drawing a shaky breath. I stopped whimpering, but I didn't stop shaking. "Leave it be, vampire," Vergil said, his voice hard and menacing. Rayne hissed, venomously.

"_What did you fucking do to her_!" Rayne demanded, spiting each word in her fury. "What in the hell -" Rayne's voice cut off.

"Be. Silent," Vergil said, his voice magnanimous. He rose, taking me with him. His hand was still placed over my eyes. He all but supported my weight. "Hunnigan see to the vampire's wounds. I will tend to Lauren's." Mike cried out once more. Vergil snarled. "Crod, be gone." The air shuddered again, dropping in temperature. Crod left silently, like a whisper in the shade. Mike cried out again weakly, as if he were on the verg of crying. "Your project is finished," Vergil's voice held a grim edge.

"But-" Mike started, his voice caught in his throat.

"Obviously," Hunnigan said. Her voice was a professional coat painted over nervous jitters. Hunnigan was spooked. I had scared the shrew. "Mike return to your lab, I will contact you later. Miss Rayne, if you will follow me." Rayne snarled.

"I don't take insults lightly," Rayne spat. Her voice was nasally yet. "She came an inch from tearing my throat out. How dare you-"

"I would suggest not selling yourself to the highest bidder if you don't like the sound of reality when you hear it," Vergil retorted, unperturbed. Ryne snarled again, the metalic sound of her blade again. The ticklish feeling of electric current ran across my skin as Vergil's aura cranked up. "Whatever her words or actions, I am her appointed guardian. Choose your next actions carefully," Vergil said softly. "They may be your last."

"What game are you playing?" Rayne sneered. The metallic sound again. "To hell with you. You rat sucking bastard." The sounds of shuffling and the door sliding open and closed ensued. For my part I pathetically tried to bring my racing heart rate down. I was still trembling.

"I told you to rest," Vergil's voice was near inaudible.

"Let go." My voice was rough. The tremors were still shaking my bones and my core.

"You never listen," Vergil continued, ignoring my request. "You should have rested."

"Let go," I said again. In silent response Vergil tightened his grip on me. "Let go, let go let go ." I struggled against Vergil's grip but it was pointless. However, I was panicking. I couldn't get free. Panting, with a start, I realized I was _hysterical_. My voice rose with every 'let go'. Hysterics-while a common bluff I often used-were actually kind of a new thing for me.

Apparently, they were a new thing for Vergil as well.

I was released. With a hand on my shoulder Vergil spun me and proceeded to bitch slap my face. The blow nearly knocked a tooth and a few braincells loose. I would have said it dislodged some of my marbles, but those were already missing in action. Just like a cheesy daytime drama, the slap did the trick. The pain in my face came back, so did the feeling in the rest of me, faintly. My fingers were numb and when I looked at them, they were white as a sheet. With an addition of a knife wound cutting through the entirety of my hand, between the bones of my ring and middle finger. I stared at the gushing wound, wondering dumbly how I had gotten it. There were other cuts, each one deep and long. The meaty underside of my upper arm also sported a stab wound.

I was cold, as if I was back on the cliff. I shuddered. I was sweating profusely, but still I trembled from an inescapable, phantom cold. Vergil was impassive. I was quiet, but shaking, a hand to my now swelling cheek. Vergil was analytical. I was damaged goods. I knew that, but now Vergil was realizing it as well. I shied away from him. With a low growl, Vergil's hand reached out and caught my upper arm, stemming the blood flow as he did so. Before, like with the cities a dark tsunami of energy crashed down around my crown. The wound began to close as Vergil's aura redirected my own confused energy.

"We will _discuss _this later," Vergil said curtly. The words were spat out with distaste, fury, and a subdued amount of curios. Vergil was hot under the collar but only someone familiar with the minute tweaks of his personality would ever be able to recognize it. The look in his eyes could have set babies screaming. Yanking me off balance, Vergil drew me in. It was then that I reacted.

"Get the fuck off of me!" I half shouted, half wailed. I tried to pulled away. It wasn't happening. "Don't fuckin' touch me," I hissed, struggling. It was futile. I couldn't stop shaking. Everywhere Vergil touched felt as if it had been scorched with acid. For his part, the half breed was impassive, annoyed and otherwise uninterested in what I had to say. Something in my neck cracked as his hand slid over the right spots. Familiar body deadening sensation over took me. I could feel the muscle spasms stop as artificial unconsciousness over took the chaos in my head.

_Someday_, I promised myself, _I'm going to make that bastard suffer…._


	59. Shit Gets Broken III

**Hunnigan**

Hunnigan's thought process reeled, still taken aback. The red headed woman shot her a glare as she snatched up the offered blood packs. She tore into them, her lower jaw working to get the blood from the plastic to her mouth. After the first pack was emptied, she began to work on the second. Her wounds began to heal as she drank. Mystified and fascinated, Hunnigan openly watched her. Hunnigan had read Leon's report, but reading a report and gaining first hand experience were decidedly two different things. The Glasgow smile was the first noticeable wound to heal. There was no scarring, no after effects. Rayne's face looked as if she had never been wounded. Next the claw wounds healed, one by one, melting back into the flawless pale of Rayne's skin. All of her wounds healed that way. By her third blood pack, Rayne looked as if she had never seen a day's worth of labor in her whole life.

The vampire slowed her feeding half way through the third blood pack. It was then that she glanced to Hunnigan and really took the other woman in. Her green eyes seemed to weigh Hunnigan's worth and secret the knowledge away in some corner of her mind. When the third emptied blood pack was in the trash, the vampire finally spoke.

"That was more than I bargained for." The vampire's voice was a sharp whip crack.

"I had no idea she would snap," Hunnigan said, sagging into a sit. The rolling chair she sat in offered her little support. However it was the only one in the medical bay. "I've never seen-"

"Then you haven't seen much," Rayne snapped. "A real fight would be impossible for human eyes." Rayne's blade swung open. Hunnigan jumped at the red stained metal. Critical green eyes traveled the length of both blades. "Damn. It went through her hand and she didn't even notice it." The blades swung shut again.

"What did you mean," Hunnigan hazarded, "what happened between the two of you in the past? How do you know each other? How do you know Vergil?"

"I don't _know_ him," Rayne snapped, cross yet. "I know _of_ him. And Lauren was normal when we last talked."

"Normal?" Hunnigan gaped, "How was that-"

"That was a long time ago. She was different then," Vergil's voice rumbled as he entered the room. Dark tank shirt with sleek silve designed matched his black boots. A silver pendant hung from heavy chain on his neck, its yellow gemstone offset against the black fabric. Nude colored, fingerless gloves adorned his arms. Vergil was weaponless, yet intimidating. He glared at Rayne with frosty contempt. "You provoked her."

" 'Provoked her' ?" Rayne demanded, eyes narrowing. "_You_ were the one that put her to blade. _You_ sacrificed everything she was. I was there. I saw it. How could she have stayed sane through all that?"

"Sacrificed?" Vergil repeated. His voice was quiet and controlled. "What would a vampire know of sacrifice?" Hunnigan looked between the two otherkin. The animosity they held for each other was evident. Both looked ready to repeat the fight from before. Chills ran down her spine, yet still she pressed on.

"What happened? What are you two talking about? How is Lauren involved?"

"This _man_," Rayne threw the later word out like an insult, "used Lauren to gain control of his current position as a leader of his kind." The next part she said only to Vergil, ignoring Hunnigan. "You were cruel and I know cruelty. _Demon_." At that Vergil smirked. The insult seemingly slid off of his hide. Rather Vergil looked amused. His voice was languid and relaxed when he spoke.

"You? Accuse me of cruelty? You feed off your own," Vergil chuckled coldly. "Your kind fucks like rodents and eats everything in their paths. Even a demon would demonstrates better breeding than that."

"You rat sucking son of whore. All of her accusations, all of the ugly things you let happen to her, the things that you _did_ to her." Rayne spat on the floor. "Were I her, I wouldn't rest until I had gutted you."

"Is that so?" the casual tone of his voice, chilled Hunnigan to the core. She had known him to be a sociopath and manipulator. Apparently her first assessment hadn't been far from the truth. The nature of his transgressions against Lauren, while evident, did little to shed light on what exactly had transpired. Rather, Hunnigan was gaining a wider scope of the man who had all too willingly agreed to oversee the care of Lauren. It was an appalling fact that she had allowed him to do so with her blessing. His next words however, sent her limited understanding into a spiral of confusion. "Coincidentally, it wasn't by my hand that her family perished. Nor was I the one to strike her down," Vergil ran a hand through his hair, still wearing that same arctic leering, smirk, "Are all vampires as misinformed as you?"

"Dhampire," Rayne hissed, her blades swinging out in the open. Hunnigan reacted before she could think better of it, sliding her chair away from the vampire. Her arm still hurt where Rayne had grasped it earlier. So did the parts of her body that had collided with the wall. "Half vampire, half human and willing to accept both." The dhampire sheathed her blades, a sudden satisfied smirk on her mouth "You were the twin who failed, weren't you? Your father was lucky to have two sons."

"And they are both as good as dead as a result of it," Vergil retorted easily, unperturbed by what was obviously meant to be an insult. "Didn't your father rape your mother?" The last part was said so casually as to be almost imperceptible as an insult. Rayne rankled at the insult. Vergil smirked coolly, enjoying the obvious reaction he was getting from Rayne. Something here didn't make sense. Actually a lot of things didn't make sense. However, she didn't want to delve into Vergil's past unless it concerned Lauren.

"Lauren's family died?" Hunnigan asked, interrupting a brewing fight. "There was no record of a biological family in her background." Both otherkin regarded her now, their verbal spat put momentarily on hold. They looked to her as if realizing for the first time that she was actually in the room.

"Furthermore, Lauren lived mostly off grid after she dropped out of college. Finding any information on her whereabouts was almost impossible until she turned up in Hope, Arizona." Hunnigan looked between the two otherkin. She leaned back in her chair. Neither the vampire nor the demon were quick in replying.

"You're making the assumption that all families are willingly related by blood," Rayne said after a long moment. Her tone was heavy as she spoke. She glared at the demon as she did so, as if her words were an agreement to his previous insult. "Or that all legacies left to us by our families are desired ones. Lauren was unique. She still is." Rayne looked pointedly to Vergil. His gaze back was one of frigid proportions. Something was most definitely going on that she was failing to grasp between the demon and the dhampire.

"Regardless of the knowledge gaps I have of her personal history," Hunnigan began again after a brooding quiet moment, "I'm concerned about her psychological state. This is the third time she's demonstrated aggression towards allies. Is it possible she could be suffering from post traumatic stress?"

"Who cares?" Rayne asked, braking off her glaring contest with Vergil. "This doesn't concern me." She shot another look at Vergil. "Keep your distance," she snapped, "and your pets on a leash. I find any of your kind snooping about my area of the compound and I won't hesitate to send them back to you in a box." Turning on her heel, Rayne stalked away. Her strides were long, and even though she walked at what must have been a quick clip, it would have taken a jogging start for Hunnigan to catch up with her. Tucking in a hand, another two blood packs were clenched violently. Watching her retreat, Hunnigan was struck with the distinct feeling of watching an angry cat walk away, fur bristled.

"What kind of fool are you?" Vergil demanded of her once Rayne was out of earshot. Hunnigan looked to him, surprised.

"I beg your pardon?"

"Are you," he spoke slowly and clearly, "so much of an idiot that you would place two warriors in the same room and not expect blood shed?"

"Warriors?" The word tasted strange to her. When she thought of warriors the images of Vikings and knights came to mind. People who waved swords around primitively and donned heavy armor. Then again, the otherkin wielded blades. A majority of them also seemed to wear leather, a modern day equivalent to armor. "I never considered the possibility that either one of them would lose control," she confessed. "Many of the field operatives I manage usually show some kind of obvious trigger before acting out aggressively. If Lauren does suffer from post traumatic stress, she would avoid whatever happens to bring on the stress. She doesn't avoid physical confrontation."

"How would survival be a trigger?" Vergil looked down his nose at her. "You humans coddle yourselves into stupidity. No wonder your kind is helpless in the face of a real challenge."

"Then perhaps you would know the trigger to her stress," Hunnigan commented, irked. "You seem to have an intimate and longstanding relationship with her. If we could figure out what her trigger was, we could avoid that emotional landmine and help her recover from the trauma."

"Help? You?" he asked sardonically. "All are human women idiots?"

"You already know what it is," Hunnigan said, suddenly, "her stress trigger that is."

"Perhaps? I wasn't present when she lost control." He crossed his arms, ever an unreadable mass.

"No but you arrived quickly enough," Hunnigan rose. "In fact every time she is triggered, you're always at hand. Why did you volunteer to oversee her if you hated her enough to sacrifice her?"

"When did I say I hated Lauren?" he retorted again, elusive to her questioning. He still wore that leering smirk.

"You don't?"

"Did I not just restrain her from self harm not more than moments ago?" He made an empty jester with one hand. Every nerve ending and fiber was alert. He was a manipulator, and he was clearly plying that trade on her, but to what end? What was he striving to hide?

"Will you answer my questions?" she demanded coldly. "You are distinctly avoiding any answer that will shed light on your particular situation."

"You haven't told me what transpired," he retorted flippantly. He shrugged, splaying both hands out to demonstrate his helplessness. "How can I be of assistance with out any foreknowledge of what happened?"

"Don't screw with me," Hunnigan snapped, truly irritated now. "I couldn't care less what happened between you and her, what kind of relationship you had, or how it ended. Nor do I care whatever it is you're trying to hide. I just want to know if she is in danger from you."

"Honestly?" Hunnigan nodded, a sharp dip of her chin. Vergil regarded her openly now, not bothering to hide the cold calculating look in his eyes. He was a completely different person than he had been a moment ago. The casual flippancy was gone, as was the defensive mask. Both were replaced by something more stoic and unyielding. A harsh line had made its way to his mouth. It was then she remembered the sharp look he had given the vampire. It had been a buying and selling look, a warning and a challenge. Taken into this new context, she couldn't help but feel that she'd been played like a fiddle by the 'man' in front of her all along. All of Lauren's warnings came back to her then, all the instances that she-not Hunnigan-be the one to broach the idea of an alliance between him and humans. Lauren had known this man was dangerous and Hunnigan had failed to truly understand what it was Lauren had been trying to tell her.

"Lauren, and the matter of her safety, are of the utmost importance to me," he said the admission softly. "I will not see her damaged beyond repair by another's hand."

" 'By another's hand'?" Hunngian repeated. "You plan on harming her in the future then?" Vergil smirked, a small upraising of his mouth.

"And if I do?" he asked. "How will you stop me?" He took a step forward. "I made no same admission in regards to your safety."

"But we both know you're not a fool," Hunnigan said, refusing to back down. "You couldn't kill me here and get away with it easily."

"Are you so certain?" He asked. His eyes did the most miraculous thing then. They flickered, the way a light might flicker. Or a candle might dance before snuffing out completely. The ice blue of his eyes turned a deep red color. Hunnigan felt her breath catch in her throat.

"I also," she continued, "Wouldn't be stupid enough to reveal this conversation to others." He grinned then, a truly savage showing of teeth. Grinning, she realized, was not something native to his character. It was too out of place. He was manipulating her again, but the purpose for it was evading her. What did he not want her to find out?

"See that you don't. I wouldn't be able to guarantee my good behavior otherwise." Turning he left, his gait a swagger. Swallowing hard, Hunnigan sank into the chair again. That man was dangerous. Shaken she reviewed the conversation in her head. Setting aside Vergil, what had been said to Lauren to make her snap? What had been her emotional trigger? Hunnigan rose. Mike was recording the match. No doubt, whatever Rayne had said then would perhaps shed some light on the situation.


	60. Shit Gets Broken IV: AfterMath

I'm back with the next go round. Enjoy.

* * *

**Hunnigan **

Hunnigan walked slowly down one of many corridors Colorado Delta Two possessed. The Colorado military base's official name, Delta Two, was the signifier for the base. Not that it was commonly used or remembered. No, the military base solely dedicated to eradicating bio warfare and was known ironically by a completely different identifier. Colorado Delta Two was commonly, jokingly refereed to as Armageddon. Who coined the weak joke was unknown, however the name had caught on like wildfire among the ranks. Armageddon, or end of the world, the base housed numerous samples of weaponized diseases in the deep bowls of the basement. Any thing and every thing the CDC couldn't vaccinate or wouldn't touch due to international politics was shipped to Delta Two for study and eventually, after a vaccination had been created, decommissioning.

The reason 'Armageddon' had stuck was because of the disease coolers, nearly four miles more under foot. In the event of war, it had been reasoned that the mountains would be most secure from enemy or terrorist bombing via plane or submarine. The mountains provided additional security measures simply being mountains. The terrain kept the viral samples safe from natural disasters of tornado in the Midwest, hurricanes in along the southern coasts, and earthquakes of the western coast. Perhaps the only security the mountains didn't offer protection from was containment. In any case, an avalanche could very easily take care of any containment issues until a neutralization order was issued.

That was all and good, but Hunnigan knew she was only thinking about pointless things to draw her anxious mind away from the matter at hand. Vergil was a dangerous man, but he as also a man with something to lose. There was something he was hiding, of that she was certain. His tendency to dominate a conversation, to steer it in the direction he wanted it to go, hadn't gone unnoticed. Along with the fact that he had been subtly assessing her answers. It had been slight, almost no hesitation at all on his part, but he'd toughly pumped her for what information he deemed necessary and then promptly acquired her silence. Hunnigan ran their conversation through her mind for the 20th time in as many minutes. What was she missing?

Point in fact: He had admitted to using Lauren. If what Rayne had said was anything to go on, it had been a brutal ordeal for Lauren. Hunnigan couldn't verify exactly the nature of the betrayal, but losing a family would be enough to destroy the mental competency of most people. Vergil himself had gained some kind of power-political, personal, whatever-from the sound of it, and a lot of it too. He was in a seat of power of his 'kind'. Hunnigan left that land mind alone for the moment. She didn't want to think of what would happen if there were not just one, but dozens of vergil-esque personalities ready to do Vergil's bidding without a second's hesitation. Whatever had been done to Lauren, it must have been a hefty price for Vergil to gained so much. Which brought her to Point in fact number two.

Vergil had implied that he hadn't been involved directly in the loss of Lauren's family. That must have meant that his involvement was indirect. Perhaps the loss of Lauren's family was the betrayal. Even more convoluted was the idea that the death of Lauren's adopted (?) family was a side effect of his betrayal rather than a direct result of it. However, that would also make plausible sense. Which brought her to point in fact number three.

Lauren had died and she had done it at Vergil's hands. He had stated as much, but then also gone back on his word and stated that he hadn't struck her down. Which was true? Had he murdered Lauren or hadn't he? How many times had Lauren died? Was Lauren, in fact, invulnerable to death? Hunnigan shied away from another landmine. She wanted to deal only with the facts she had, rather than endlessly speculate. Knowing what transpired between Lauren and Vergil could most likely be key to anticipating and defusing another outburst like today. Which brought her to point in fact, number four.

Vergil had been nothing short of honest when he said that he would protect Lauren from 'damage beyond repair by another's hand'. Whatever that meant. However, he had, so far, stuck true to that agenda. In a uniquely subvert way, Vergil had been an assistance to Lauren, keeping her from physical damage for the most part, when he himself wasn't causing it. Firstly, he'd covered her when the BW had attacked the base. Not only had Vergil struck the Bio Weapon down before Lauren had managed to, he'd also struck down a large majority of the military force station at Delta Two. It had been Lauren who'd made him stop and Lauren whom he'd covered after the volley of mind numbing tranquilizers had been rained down upon them. Then there was the mission in the Twin Cities, twice by her accounts Vergil had ensured her survival. Now there was this.

He was a phantom to Lauren, or perhaps, Lauren was a phantom to him. Whatever their relationship, Hunnigan was certain it held as much ambiguous trust as it did distrust. Dazed from the mental conundrum, Hunnigan found herself in the doorway to Mike's Lab. While she had been running mental circuits, the equivalent to a mouse on its training wheel, Mike had been doing something rather less constructive.

Littered before and around him a trash mound of wrappers and unopened snack foods not only over took Mike's desk, it over took the ground around him. Mike, who sat before a computer monitor with a hand crammed into a Cheetos bag, was oblivious to Hunnigan. Instead of announcing her presence, Hunnigan stepped over an empty mountain dew bottle, three snicker bar wrappers, a half eaten Doritos bag, half eaten Twizzlers, four spent sucker sticks with the wrappers twisted around them, two empty Twinkie wrappers, an empty can of coke, three king sized kit-kat wrappers, a Reeses wrapper, four half eaten Hershey bars, and an orange juice bottle completely drained. On Mike desk, three more Twinkies, a box of Mike and Ike's, a bag of gummie worms and another of gummi bears, along with another can of orange Fanta lay unopened and waiting. Just the site of it made her stomach hurt.

"Mike?" her voice was soft and as soothing as she could make it. It didn't matter, Mike jumped anyways.

"Hunnigan," He said, his voice a shade from confusion. His mouth was orange from the cheetos. Roughly he swiped it away with the back of his hand. He returned his attention to the monitor, hand going to the cheetos bag.

"What are you doing?"

"Uploading the experiment results into the computer," Mike said dully between mouthfuls. Hunnigan sighed and found a chair, freeing it from paperwork and an odd assortment of files, she rolled it up behind Mike.

"Is that the video footage?" she asked. Mike nodded, quiet. Hunnigan looked to him.

"Do you need to talk about," she let her voice trail off. How exactly did one begin to talk about people falling from ceilings and appearing out of nowhere?

"Talk about it?" Mike repeated, spinning in his chair to face her. "I just saw star trek and Mystery Theater 3000 collide in a cheap B rated horror movie setting with hot babes battling it out," Mike said flatly.

"Um." She wasn't quite sure where to go with that.

"That had to have been the Mecca of every geek since the beginning of geek history and I was front row for it," Mike said. His voice was still flat and he continued to eat cheetos.

"And?" Hunnigan prompted.

"And it scared the shit out of me," Mike made a face. "I think I'm losing my mind. Did I really just see what I thought I saw?"

"That's what I wanted to know," Hunnigan said gently. "I thought I would look over the video footage with you."

"I'll need to get it mapped out in the software. It'll take a while for the program to run," Mike said, swiveling his chair back towards the computer. "Got an hour to spare?"

"More than an hour if that's what it takes," Hunnigan said, reaching for an unopened twinkie.

"Atta girl," Mike replied, his hands flying over his keyboard. "You eat, I'll work."

An hour and a half later, Mike's programs had finished their work. Various copies of the video had been made and scanned with differing imaging. Mike had copied the work over to a debriefing room with screens to spare. Six to spare to be exact. On four of the six screens the same footage played out, each one of a different imaging lens. One screen depicted thermal heat signatures. A second screen showed what, at first glance, appeared to be photo negative imaging. Mike explained it to be x-ray imaging, used to catch irregularities in body movements.

"Something we're definitely going to see a lot of," he added darkly. The third screen showed a normal picture. Not digital enhancement done there. The forth screen was unusual, halos seemed to waft from the figures frozen on the screen. Each figure on the screen radiated it's own colors. Lauren was depicted in a weak white halo. Rayne, a crimson one. Herself and Mike didn't register any halos.

"We weren't wearing the thermal bands," Mike explained once again. He held up the metal coated rubber band. "The thermal bands were designed to transmit energy. That's what the halo around the figures are: a representation of the energy they are using."

"The E-Tap," Hunnigan commented. Mike nodded.

"It was the best I could do to capture their electo thermal signals."

"Did you color code them?" Hunnigan asked. Mike shook his head.

"Not really. I put the colors on a spectrum, just like the thermal imaging works on a spectrum. When you have thermal imaging, the cooler the color, the cooler the temperature."

"Reds, oranges, and yellows indicated body heat," Hunnigan agreed. "I know this."

"Right, but the E-tap doesn't have a spectrum, so I had to make one," Mike continued. "White is the weakest color on the spectrum. It's derived from the resting position of the two subjects I got. The data I gathered was weakest on them when at rest, same for the reading I took on Lauren."

"Okay. White means 'at rest'," Hunnigan hazard at a summary.

"Or just weak," Mike said, "I'm starting to think E-Tap has a direct correlation to an Otherkin's physical attributes. For example, before the match, both Lauren and Rayne had the same E-Tap color when simply walking around." Mike cued the image. Both Rayne and Lauren walked into the training room followed closely by Mike and Hunnigan. All four screens showed the same footage. The E-tap screen showed Rayne and Lauren outlined with white-purple halos. Mike froze the footage.

"Take a look. They have mostly white halos here. There's some purple to them, but they are also putting out minimal energy. They're walking, of course so there is energy being used." Hunnigan nodded, silently.

"They have normal internal body temperatures as this point too," she added, remembering the thermal readings from the cities.

"Okay, let's move on," Mike said after taking note of it. They watched the match between the two woman play out. For the first two matches the simply watched the four monitors. Hunnigan noted that after warming up, the halo's spiked in color from white to purple, from purple to blue, and then from blue to green. Faint tendrils of yellow tinged to auras whenever one woman or the other struck a blow. Like wise the blows spiked temperature on the thermal reading screen. Mike paused the footage at the beginning of the last match, turning to Hunnigan.

"Did you see, the thermal imaging spiked in time to the E-tap imagine. Forgetting the x ray imaging for now, I'd say this further confirms that they are definitely using energy. When they both hit the green halos, their max energy out put was nearly double what a normal person's was."

"They weren't even serious," Hunnigan murmured. "This was a play match to them." Mike took a deep breath.

"True, but you can tell through the E-TAP that Lauren wasn't even at 90% when she started," Mike pointed to the e-tap screen. "She's been a color level down the spectrum from Rayne since the beginning of the second match. Her physical limitations are reflected in the E-TAP."

"She looked on the mend," Hunnigan agreed. "She was wounded severely during the twin cities operation. The physical wounds themselves are, perhaps there's a lingering effect from them?"

"That's what it seems to show," Mike said. He took another calming breath. "Alright lets move on to the last match." The footage began again. This time Lauren's halo was a weak blue, purple color while Rayne's maintained a strong green hue. The two woman went back and forth, exchanging blows. Then the match got serious. Rayne's blade passed inches from Lauren's face. Rayne cartwheeled a moment later, hitting Lauren square in the chin. The blow ricochet Lauren to the floor. Lauren's halo dimmed to a white color as Rayne's flared yellow for second before returning to a green color.

Lauren reacted and her halo's color changed, jumping from white to blue. It spiked to green until Rayne kicked her in the back of the head, sending her face first into the ground. Lauren's halo disappeared completely before coming back to a weak ghoastly white about her person. Rayne for her part, put her foot over Lauren's throat, her halo at a blue color and fading slightly to a purple. She leaned down, her mouth moving.

Then chaos erupted on the screen. Lauren's halo intensified to a bright red. What appeared to be energy bolts crackled outwards. Then Lauren was a top Rayne, beating her senseless. Hunngian did her best to be subjective. Rayne's halo was rallying, rising from purple to green and then even to yellow.

"Look at that," Mike whispered, his voice both awed and terrified. He paused the screen. Lauren froze a hand drawn back in a fist. Clenched in the fist a stream of yellow crackled towards the ceiling. Little lightning bolts crackled about Lauren's skin. They appeared, at first to be random. Mike enhanced the image. The marking that traveled down Lauren's arm, down her back, were not random, but some form of writing. Hieroglyphic in nature, they were not recognizable as the few languages she did know.

"Play it slowly," Hunnigan whispered back. Mike played out the rest of the fight frame by frame. The yellow in Lauren's fist grew, more of it was sent skywards. More of it trickled down her back, adding to the intense red halo, lighting up writing in her legs and arms. All over her body the red halo lit up her skin. Then it pushed off the skin of Lauren's back, bulbing into two elliptical like shapes. At this point in the match, Rayne's halo was now a study in contracts. With each blow her halo dipped lower on the E-TAP spectrum, first from yellow to green, then green to blue, and then from blue to purple. Then the screen when yellow for a moment, and nothing was recorded.

"Electrical interference," Mike grunted. "I secured the camera against electrical surges, but it wasn't enough."

Out of the ceiling, boots first from a vortex of yellow, Vergil dropped. Like Mike and Hunnigan, he wore no thermal bands, and thusly had no halo of color. However that changed the moment he came into contact with the floor. The yellow of Lauren's fist somehow connected to a spot upon Vergil's chest, as if to tether to two otherkin together. Hunnigan blinked. Connected together by energy? Lauren and Vergil?

Vergil was now charging across the screen and tackling Lauren head one. He must have come into contact with on of Lauren's thermal bands. For one moment, as the two of them sailed through the air and off screen a red halo lit the two of the up like a Christmas tree. The camera spun to take in the two of them as flames erupted from an outlet.

Vergil was now outlined in black and Lauren's was dropping slowly in intensity. The red faded to an orange, the orange to a yellow, and the yellow quickly plummeted to a purple. The camera panned back to Rayne, now haloed in white. It flared blue as she got to her feet, throwing Hunnigan out of her way. Again the screen yellowed out.

The Crocodile, because that's what it had at first appeared to be, rose from the ground. The camera jumped, panning to the crocodile. Sobek, Hunnigan recalled, the Egyptian god, was perhaps the best way to describe the creature. For the most part the creature was a crocodile, however the beast had a human torso, human hands, and stood upright like a human.

"Look at that," Mike said, freezing the frame. Yellow tethers of energy bolts linked the crocodile-Sobek as Hunnigan was beginning to refer to him-to Vergil, who was still in contact with Lauren's Thermal bands. The black intensity of his halo was contrasted by Lauren's purple one. Rayne's halo, however, maintained a blue hue. The crocodile, while tethered to Vergil by some means, did not have a discernable halo. Then the footage was over.

With a sigh, Mike leaned back in his chair. He looked to Hunnigan.

"She called for him," Hunnigan said. "Unconsciously, she called for him."

"What?" Mike asked.

"The yellow," she gestured to the screen, "when he dropped out of the ceiling. Lauren called for him. They're tied together."

"How is that even possible?" Mike asked. "She was barely making coherent sentences at that point. How could she have called for this Vergil guy?"

"Well then how did he make Sobek appear?" Hunnigan retorted.

"Who?" Mike asked, mystified.

"The crocodile," she said. Mike rewound the footage until Sobek appeared. "Look yellow energy, the same amount of energy Lauren used to call him with. He used yellow E TAP to call Sobek."

"The crocodile is Sobek?" Mike rubbed his beard thoughtfully. "You might have something there." Mike looked over to Hunnigan. "Why do I have a feeling you care more about the fact that they're using energy to call enough rather than the E-TAP readings themselves? In all honesty, we don't really have solid proof that any of them did any sort of calling."

"It's a side project I'm working on," Hunnigan replied tight lipped, opting to ignore Mike's doubt. The recent revelation rocked her. Vergil used Lauren. He killed her but not her family. Lauren had died twice, so far as she knew, but only once by Vergil's hand. Vergil and Lauren, despite their trust issues worked together as a cohesive unit. They were linked, for better or worse. Whatever this link between them was, it was important, that was perhaps the only certainty she had. "Continue to work on this," Hunnigan said. "Your research could be very important, but, why don't you get some rest first?"

Mike looked to her, warily.

"You think I'm going to be able to sleep with this kind of shit flying around in my head?" he said bluntly.

"Buy you a drink?" Hunnigan said to that. Surprisingly, she had an inclination to get one herself. With a half shrug, Mike shut down the operation. They left the briefing room together, taking care to lock up the findings.

"You ever watch Babylon 5?" Mike asked as they walked down the corridor. His hands were in his pockets.

"Babylon what?" Huinnigan repeated.

"Oh boy," Mike sighed.


	61. Antidote

**Raziel**

The child was matured now, in ways that were difficult for the human scientific community to fathom. The antigens from his blood samples had been cultivated and harvested. The results were promising. Human testing trials were to commence soon. Which only left the refuse of the experiment to deal with.

The child himself had dramatically aged at an unnatural rate. At only a mere 48 hour window the child now resembled a youth between the ages of 5 or 8. With a slim build, ASH was of a pallid completion and would have passed for a small eight-year-old boy. His hair was a bleached blond, nearly snow white, and the eyes…those eyes…

In the past humans had believed that eyes were the windows of the soul. If that was true, no light of god, no light of man had ever reached the depths of the child's soul. His eyes were obsidian. Scientifically speaking, it was unnatural for a child who possessed otherwise recessive physical traits, but not impossible. The child's growth had suspended recently and his age did not seem to be advancing in years.

An attendant had given the boy clothing, which ASH had donned without any prompting or explanation. Raziel didn't doubt that the ASH's IQ was far above that of an average child of 8 years. Raziel didn't even doubt that ASH's IQ topped that of some of the most advanced minds in the world. There was a lot regarding ASH that Raziel didn't care underestimate. He knew-in the depths of that blackness-a danger more devastating than any virus lurked.

The Accord had only been destroyed. The promise-the prophecy-of the events to transpire once The Accord was gone had yet come to light. Even with Destiny cracked at its foundation. Raziel knew he could no more unteather his own fate than he could avoid it. God had gone mad and the desperate masses-those creations he had used as chess pawn upon the stage of life for his own sadistic amusement-had rebelled. The unheard of came to pass, the unspoken sung among the choir of the heavens. Demons had risen to glory, Angels had fallen into darkness, the fair folk ceased their merry dancing and took up arms, the elemental and the earth born humans linked arms and hands and a unity never once dreamed of was created.

And yet it had not been enough. The last of his kind, a full blooded Angel, Raziel had been appointed the charge of Order and the maintaining there of within God's creation. To his sisters the duties of Chaos and the continuance of the recycling of souls had fallen. For putting a deranged god behind proverbially bars, for plummeting such a strong soul into the cold waters of death, a high and terrible price had been paid. Blood, God's blood and that of his kin, had been shed. An entire race of beings had been sacrificed until only a handful remained. Raziel was the last of the angels and true blood born at the dawning of God's existence whom had also been present at the supposed ending of it.

The child before Raziel was now picking up the few developmentally appropriate toys that had been allowed him. ASH-anomaly synthesis human-was beginning to learn what it meant to be human. One building block at a time. As fascinated as he was unpersuaded by the demonstration, Razeil watched the would-be boy-the impersonator-in his box of a room. The clear plexi glass was mirror tinted on the inside. ASH should not have been able to see out past his own reflection. Despite this, Raziel had not stepped foot inside of ASH's holding room. Instead he preferred to watch the creation-ASH-from a far through video surveillance.

"Sir," a soft knocking sounded against the metal of his office doorframe.

"Yes?" Raziel did not bother turning from the monitor where ASH played with building blocks.

"The results of the human testing." A soft fluttering sound indicated that paper work had fallen on his desk. Still Raziel did not take his eyes from the child.

"And?"

"It was a success sir, both as an immunization agent and as a cure. A.S.H. has definitively stopped all viral pathogens present in all of our viral studies." Raziel felt the sigh of relief catch somewhere in his throat. ASH had abruptly left off playing with his toys. Instead he stared intently into the monitor-or rather what should have been his own mirror image. ASH's gaze was steady and unwavering. The grainy image did not seem to blink. Unnerved Raziel spun around in his chair to face the attendant.

"Very well, begin full scale production of the antidote," Raziel rose heavily to his feet. "Destroy all remained work related to the antidote."

"Sir?" the attendant paused, somewhat confused.

"We can hardly expect that this facility is as secure as it claims to be," Raziel made his tone sharp. "It would behoove us, in this very volatile time to destroy any traces of our work, lest it be undone by a bio-terrorist."

"Understood sir," the attendant hesitated for a moment. "Are you sure you want us to eliminate _all_ the work related to the antidote?"

"Yes, all work _including_ the child," Raziel said. The attendant blanched but didn't protest. "Keep only what is necessary to continue to create the antidote, nothing more. "

"Yes sir." Quietly the white clad attendant left as quickly as he had come, closing the door behind him. With a heavy sigh, Raziel sank into his chair, seeming to melt at the joints. It was risky, he knew, giving out that order, but his hands were bound, both literally and figuratively from directly harming that child in any manner. More dangerous yet, should that child ASH be so inclined as to be a demanding child, Raziel would be obligated to do his bidding. Angels were not creatures meant to have free will. It was owing to this fact alone that so many of his kind had perished during the Great Celestial Wars.

Forcing his body to relax, Raziel spun about in his chair to once again face the monitor. On the screen the child continued to meet his gaze unwaveringly.

"They called you Undisputed One, King of Light, and Prince of Understanding. Now you're nothing more than a clown sitting in the clouds who works in mysterious ways." Raziel rose to his feet and switched the monitor off, disgusted with himself and the task that lay before him.


	62. Lost it All

There's nothing like a trail of blood to find your way home.

When you've lost it all, that's when you finally realize that life is beautiful.

-Life is Beautiful, Sixx AM

**Rayne**

"Okay, what's going on?" Leon demanded. He was half turned in the chair, his hands hovering over the keyboard. In front of him the monitor contained various field reports and, of course, a copy of information found on Rayne's USB drive.

Although the data was scrambled in places due to the 'hard transportation' it had undergone, what information that was intact detailed a very contagious disease that if released to a general public, would devastate a population. Leon had been familiar with the viral structure and had shared as much with Rayne. The information had done little alleviate the broody mood she had been in for the last two days.

"…..," Rayne was taciturn. There was no hint of the flirting or edgy insanity she demonstrated from time to time. She had been that way for two days.

"I'm done if you don't start speaking," Leon continued, pushing away from the computer to turn and face her. He crossed his arms, studying her. "Are you pouting over something?" Green eyes flickered towards him, looking annoyed. Rayne leaned forward.

"We know Kain unleashed the virus in the cities. We know that samples of the virus were taken here. I want to see it for myself."

"What?" Leon asked incredulously.

"The virus samples," Rayne repeated, "I want to see them for myself."

"Good luck with that. I don't even have access to them. They're probably in a freezer in the basement somewhere," Leon gestured with a hand. "That's the research and development division and only high clearance R&D members even have access to the freezers." Rayne leaned back, retreating into silence again. Leon raised an eyebrow. "You're not hungry are you?" he demanded. Rayne gave him a flat look.

"I've fed already." Restlessly, she rose. "There's a friend I want to visit."

"You have friends?" Leon asked. At that Rayne gave him a subtle look.

"There are two types of people I know, Leon," The cat smirk was back, feline and sassy. "Those that I consider food and fewer still, those I consider friends. Keep one close and the other at bay." While her look was improved, her words soured Leon's disposition.

"Is that so?" Leon shook his head and returned to his paper work. It was no question to him which of the two categories he fell under. Oh well, it had been a simple deal anyways. Rayne stalked out of the computer door, letting is slide shut behind her.

"You were a good friend Leon," Rayne said softly to herself. She continued down the hallway. She needed only two more things and then she would leave this place. No doubt Sevren was out there somewhere still, looking for her.

**Sarah **

"So you fought in a war?" Sarah asked. "Did you kill anybody?"

"That's not a question a young lady should ask," the reply was quick, but soft. The old man had woken up several days ago. When Grant wasn't being hounded by nurses and the two of them weren't being poked and prodded, the cellmates slowly began to get to know each other. Grant, as Sarah had learned, was a vetran soldier turned retired policeman turned part-time detective. He had been married once, had a son who he didn't seem to know a lot about, and otherwise had a voice made rough by decades of smoking and only a couple of years of hard living. Grant had been on a job assignment in the cities when the zombies (call them 'infected' Grant had insisted) had trapped him in a building basement of some sort.

"And you?" It was the old man's turn to question her. "How did you come here?"

"Well," Sarah started. Suddenly, she didn't know where to start. She was here because of Lauren. Mostly. But she was here partly because Tweak had sent her away. Tweak had sent her away because she had maybe sorta kinda messed up a serious negotiation between fey courts by maybe sorta kinda defending herself against a fey dignitary who had confused her for some free lance human. Of course everyone in Tweak's court was half blooded fey and more than a few humans had joined the court since Tweak's take over ten years ago. But the dignitary hadn't know Sarah was under Tweak's protection and Tweak hadn't known the fey was a dignitary when he slammed his magic up into the dignitary's face. Nor had Tweak known that the dignitary was from Obrion's courts, in the fey lands, and that an insult to the king's favored dignitary could potentially be an insult to the fey king himself.

So it was exile more or less, for her own safety as Tweak had put it. But then again, Tweak hadn't spoken to her, hadn't looked her way, since the incident. He hadn't even said goodbye. Instead Tweak had just made a convenient arrangement and sent Sarah on her way to be housed in a fey court across the entire damn country. Lauren was supposed to have been her bodyguard. Instead they'd traveled through a town filled with zombies and Sarah had unwittingly contracted the virus through a cut on her knee. (Lame!) Now she was being held in the basement of the government for observation and a needle jab every now and again.

Sarah was at a loss for words. Lauren had promised to come back. She'd also mentioned that now Sarah's life was expendable. Just as it had been to Tweak. Then Sarah had said something not so nice to Lauren and since then, Sarah had not seen Lauren and regretted saying something like that to the person who had agreed to be her bodyguard.

Sarah ran bitten nails through the fluff that had sprung up from the sheared baldness exile had cost her. Tweak had gone so far as to cut every once of hair from her head so as to 'disguise' her for the journey across country with Lauren. The loss of the hair had staggered her. Tweak was angry with her, she knew that, but it couldn't have been avoided. Why was he so mad? Why didn't he care? Why didn't the body guard he sent with her care? Was she really that useless?

Sarah blinked, aware now for the first time that her eyes were threatening to overflow. She hadn't cried even when she'd learned Tweak was exiling her from the only home she'd ever known. It had been Tweak who'd taken her in after Marcus-her brother-had died.

"It'll be okay," Grant's rough voice intruded on her thoughts. She looked the old man from her wall cot. He met her gaze awkwardly from his place on the gurney. They'd gotten rid of the handcuff but the old man still wasn't recovered enough to walk about freely. The surgery stitches were still covered by gauze on his neck. Sarah barked out a laugh, scrubbing at the tears on her cheeks, furious with herself for crying. The old man had enough to worry about with out her acting like a baby.

"I got a cut on my knee," she said weakly, trying to force the humor into the situation. "How lame is that?" She pulled up the pants to the military issued jumper to show Grant the scar. The black spider webbing effect of the halted infection was faintly present yet. It had grown noticeably lighter with the last injection they'd given her. Sarah didn't know what to make of the inky, dagger like spider threads. They looked interesting, but they carried misfortune.

"Did you get it in the cities?" Grant asked, studying her knee from his position on the bed.

"Nah. I got it a while back, um, in a small town in Arizona. Hope, I think it was called."

"You were in Hope?" Grant asked. "They said there were no survivors."

"There wasn't," Sarah made a face, turning her thoughts to Hope. "We were just traveling through the area. We weren't local townies."

"We?" Grant asked. Sarah hesitated.

"The friend I was traveling with." For whatever reason, she couldn't bring herself to even think of Lauren. It was Lauren's fault they had even been in that stupid town…that didn't erase the knowledge that it was still Sarah's fault for having to travel with Lauren.

"I'm sorry for your misfortune," Grant said gently. Sarah blinked, at first puzzeled by Grant's sincerity.

"I'm not alone," she said quickly. "Lauren and I both survived. We got out of there. The government sent somebody to investigate and, um, I got out with him. Lauren found her own way out-we got separated-and then the government found her too."

"Your friend Lauren must be tough," Grant said.

"She is," Sarah said, "So am I."

"You have to be to survive that kind of place," Grant said, smiling gently. Sarah returned his grin. "I'm curious, what does your friend look like?" Sarah shrugged.

"She has short black hair. What about you?" Sarah decided it was her turn to ask some questions. "Who was the bad guy you were looking for in the cities?" Grant chuckled.

"It's not as interesting as a movie, if that's what you're asking, but I could say a couple of things about the man…"


	63. Too Close

Which way is right, which way is wrong

How do I say that I need to move on?

You know we're headed separate ways

And it feels like I am just too close to love you

There is nothing I can really say

I can't lie no more, I can't hide no more

…

So I'll be on my way

-Too Close, Alex Clare

**Lauren**

Waking up with tar in your mouth sucks. Waking up with blood in your mouth is decidedly worse. Whatever the hell happened, I wasn't planning on dwelling on it. In fact the more I ignored those stupid 'episodes' the more I didn't suffer relapses, so far as I understood it. Not relapsing was looking more and more like a good thing, especially after what happened ten years ago. Dwelling on it-on what had happened then and since-only seemed to drive me closer and closer to life's little edge of sanity. So after peeling off the old (and blood splattered) clothes and stringing on some new ones, I left Vergil's room and wandered towards the cafeteria. _Screw the ban_, I thought, _I'm freaking hungry_.

My military issued combat boots barely made a sound over the din of the cafeteria. It was lunchtime. I had just sat down with my tray at an empty table when the first wave of bad luck broke out. Wouldn't you know it, people went out of their way to avoid you when you're a government labeled freak. I dug into the disenchanting mud they called mash potatoes and gravy when Hunnigan sat down across from me. I gave her a dirty look as a spoonful of slop found its way to my mouth. The crap colored mashed potatoes tasted exactly as they looked.

"The hell do you want?" I demanded over the mouthful, swallowing hard.

"I heard you were up and about. I thought we should talk about what happened." I gave Hunnigan a sour look. The tone of her voice and that patient, expectant, reasonable look on her face made me want to stab her in the jugular with my plastic fork. I also knew without a doubt I could in all likelihood, kill Hunnigan and get away with it. That knowledge alone ensured that the fork fell back into the crap-tastic mashed potatoes.

"I'm eating," I said, tersely. "You can 'talk about what happened' to the sparkly unicorns and prancing elves." Another spoonful of slop and a mouthful of lukewarm milk passed with Hunnigan giving me her best touchy feely look before she spoke again.

"I'm not going to ask about your episode," She said lowly. I raised an eyebrow. _That sounded rehearsed._ "There are other things I need to ask you. We _will_ talk," She added, a tinge of determination in her voice. I sighed. Woman must have been a cockroach in a previous life.

"_Really_?" I demanded, pushing away the food tray. "I'm eating. I've been on my feet for five minutes. Rayne is going to bash my face into the nearest wall when she sees me, Vergil just pulled something that could have been part of _The exorcist_ film, and you don't have questions about my episode?" I gave her a look. "What kind of BS is that?"

"The kind that doesn't trigger another episode," Hunnigan said bluntly. I winced. Strait truth, that was, at least I couldn't fault Hunnigan that. "We need to talk, the sooner the better." She discreetly glanced about. "Vergil isn't here and I don't want him interrupting our conversation." _Vergil?_ The craptastic feeling I woke up with was slowly degrading into a black haze. Whatever this conversation was really about, it wouldn't be anything I wanted to talk about.

"Goddamn you," I muttered, rubbing my palm against my forehead. I stared down at my potato crap impersonation. "Fine," I sighed, rising to my feet. "Where to?"

Hunnigan led me to cramped room. It had cots and soft things, chocolate bars, saline, and ice packs lining the walls. The paint coat was a light blue. In fact the room almost looked to be a medical room of some kind give or take the lack of scalpels.

"This is our shock treatment room," Hunnigan said, gesturing at a cot for me to sit on. With a sigh, I sat down, taking the cig and lighter she offered. I leaned back, stretching, my wall falling against a wall. "Not a lot of people come here," she added. Hunnigan remained standing, leaning against a cabinet as I lit up. She studied me a moment before talking.

"I want to say first that I'm not trying to pry into your life," Hungian began.

"However," I said for her. The unspoken clause was eminent. This was a damage control speech or interrogation or both. I knew what was coming next, or at least I thought I did.

"However, I believe I'm entitled to an explanation regarding some matters," Hunnigan shifted uncomfortably. "I believe you are suffering some kind of post traumatic stress Lauren." I snorted. _Was that supposed to be a news flash?_

"And?"

"And that I believe its affecting you more than you realize," Hunnigan's tone was soft, but it wasn't quite the touchy-feely it had been in the cafeteria. Smart move on her part.

"So?" I asked. _Traumatized?_ This woman didn't know the half of it. Hunnigan sighed.

"I believe what you have is commonly referred to as PTSD or post traumatic stress disorder. This particular disorder generally arises in people after they have been exposed to an event that is psychologically traumatizing in nature. The trauma is so great that the individual experiencing doesn't have any means of coping with it. Symptoms of it include flashbacks, nightmares, avoiding situations that are similar to the initial trauma incident, even difficulty sleeping or abnormal sleeping habits," Hunnigan paused. "Lauren, I can't diagnose you, I'm not a doctor. Not anymore. However, if you start having these symptoms more frequently and if they persist," Hunnigan trailed off.

"Then I'm crazy," I said flatly. _Like I didn't know this already_.

"That's not true. PTSD is treatable," Hunnigan retorted. "Just because your physical wounds heal twice as quickly as a normal person's, it doesn't mean that your mental wounds will do the same. A lot of our operatives go through extensive mental conditioning and examinations as well as confidential counseling and therapy." I rolled my eyes.

"Save that crock of shit for someone else," I interrupted her, rising to my feet. "I can guarantee you that there is no therapist on the planet sane enough to deal with my _trauma_." I made to leave the room.

"I'm not suggesting you see a therapist. I am informing you of your options," Hunnigan said. "I also have a second question for you." I paused turning to face Hunnigan.

"Options?" I repeated.

"Options," Hunnigan agreed. "I can hardly force you to do anything and we both know that. However, I do need some information to help prevent another incident." I groaned, cracking my neck with impatience. The crack of locked airbubbles and giving bone felt as satisfying as it sounded.

"What do you need to know?" Hunnigan looked surprised. I tried to look bored. If Hunnigan wanted to keep me from going crazy on someone again, I was all for it. So far there was no reason not to help her keep other sane people safe from my fucked up little corner of the world. Hunnigan left her perch by the cabinet and sat at a counter, pulling a notebook and pen free from her leather messenger bag.

"What is your relationship with Rayne?" she began.

"We met ten years ago, around the time I met Vergil," I said. "We don't really know each other that well. We just happened to be in the same throw downs. That's all really." Hunnigan had pulled a note pad out from nowhere and was writing it down.

"Throw downs?" Hunnigan asked, glancing up over the rim of her glasses.

"Battles, fights," I waved a hand. "Most of them with weapons and in situations like yesterday," I added quickly as Hunnigan's mouth dropped open. "We never really went one on one like we did last time." Closing her mouth for a moment, Hunnigan scribbled out her notes.

"Okay. Would you say that your relationship with Rayne is one based on violence?"

"Not so much based _on_ violence as it is based _in_ violence," I said. "We fought on the same side." Hunnigan nodded, pen flying.

"Rayne indicated that when she saw you last, you were in a tough situation," Hunnigan looked up. "Where you?"

"Yes," I said shortly. Hunnigan waited.

"Would you care to elaborate?" She prodded. I sucked on my cigarette silently and stared at her dully. I didn't offer her any more information than that. After a few seconds Hunnigan moved on to her next question without comment. She was treading thin ice and she knew it.

"Rayne commented that you and Vergil were involved in an altercation of some sort. That it ended badly between you two. Would you say that this particular incident affects you in the same way it did then?"

"Every day," I muttered grudgingly, sucking on my cig. These questions were cutting it a little fine. Did it effect me that every day my human family was dead because Vergil had done nothing to help or warn them? I mentally distanced myself from the question. I didn't want to think about it. I already felt like shit. The cigarette smoke was bitter on my tongue. Hunnigan was smart enough to know no more information would be forth coming.

"My last question," she said. Hunnigan took a breath before speaking. Consciously I braced myself. It must be a doozie if Hunnigan had issues about asking it. "Were you and Vergil lovers, or intimate after some fashion, when you were partners?" I blinked. She had asked it so delicately and deadpan at the same time.

"What the hell does that have to do with me attacking Rayne?" I asked slowly.

" 'Had enough yet? The rumors were more striking than the truth. What happened Lauren? Did you really die that time?' " Hunnigan quoted, reading from her note pad. She caught my eye, "Mike continued to record everything. We played it back. Rayne triggered your attack with those words. Afterwards, Vergil came and protected you from Rayne's backlash. You two, Vergil and you, are much closer than you previously led me to believe." My patience was gone now, fleeting as it had been. I let a smirk dance to my mouth. I wasn't amused though. I was sinking, my insides coiling and clenching.

"Why don't you ask Vergil?" I said. "He'll tell you everything you want to know." _And if you manage to get that out of it, share it with me will you?_ Again I mentally distanced myself from the question Hunnigan was asking and the retort I wanted to barf back at her.

"I did," Hunnigan said simply. "His answer was as evasive as yours." That woman either had balls the size of Texas, or she was lying. I was hedging a bet that it was the later of the two. All the same if she was telling the truth, it was revealing that Vergil too refused to comment at the matter. Ah Vergil, my most favorite person in the entire world. He was-and is also-the most favorite person I loved to hate.

"What gives you the right to ask me this?" I growled. I didn't say it but the word, the insult on the tip of my tongue, hung in the air like an unreleased atom bomb. _Bitch_. _Cunt. Whore._ Any profanity that was foul enough to match my mood would have worked, except I hadn't found a word strong enough to describe that yet.

"You want to get personal, it will cost you. Nothing is free, not even information. That's rule number one when it comes to dealing with Otherkin," I say flatly. "You've asked questions, let me ask you: why do you smell like sex every time Leon steps in the room?" I bit down on my cigarette, leaning forward with crossed arms. Hunnigan's emotional training barely kicked in that time. Her hand noticeably tightened on her pen and she didn't meet my eyes. "You want to know about Vergil and I? Then in exchange I want to know how long has it been since the last time you and Leon fucked." Hunnigan took a deep breath.

"I've offended you, understandably so," she was handling me with kid gloves now, back peddling before the bomb went off. Another smart move. If I wasn't pissed off at her most of the time, Hunnigan may have made a good friend. "My apologies, however that the only thing I could think of that would cause you PTSD." Hunnigan rose to her feet, gather her notebook. "I was wrong. However, if you decide you need help tackling any problems, I can point you to towards some useful resources," Hunnigan said, standing, ignoring my previous comment. Gathering up her notebook, she looked me in the eye, back poker strait. "Thank you for answering my questions and your time Lauren. I apologize if you found it unpleasant."

"Go to hell," I shot back, annoyed, puffing hard on my cancer stick. "You're lucky I'm not Vergil or I'd gut you where you stand," I added. Turning I stomped away, cigarette burning in my mouth.

Not more than fifteen minutes later, as I was stewing and bubbling and boiling over the conversation I had with Hunnigan, I ran into Rayne. Literally. With my head down, hands in pockets, I head butted her shoulder and nearly ran her over. I had been walking a mile a minute. Stumbling I raised my head to meet Rayne's cold gaze.

"You," Rayne said, stepping back. Her eyes were distant and disdainful, the bruises on her face had cleared up.

"Rayne," I blinked. _Aw shit_. _What is this, karmatic shit-a-palooza day_? "Hey," I said, "Um..." That was about as far as I got.

"You are making up that abortion of a fight to me," Rayne interrupted, crossing her arms. They did a great job of framing her porn star boobs. I looked to her with a critical eye.

"Say what?"

"There are samples of the virus from the Twin Cities. I want to know what the humans are doing with them." _Wow, girl got to the point pretty damn fast. _

"Making a cure?" I hazarded. Okay, where was this coming from exactly? Although I was somewhat grateful Rayne hadn't brought up the 'incident' as Hunnigan called it save to black mail me with it. "That's what they said they were doing with them."

"That is what they said," Rayne said in a satin steel voice.

"Aren't they?" I demanded. It's a little unnerving to think that the virus could be used for anything other than creating a cure. Granted, I was pissed off enough with Hunnigan to consider the possibility.

"Are they?" Rayne retorted, a carnivore smirk on her red lips. It wasn't the playful one from before. It was almost angry. "You owe me," she added, the carnivore not only on her face, but in her voice as well.

"Alright I'm in," I said, not bothering to think it over. I did owe Rayne, she was right about that much at least. "What's the game plan?"

"At two in morning, sharp, they'll be changing the guards on the laboratory where they house the vaccination and viral samples. That'll be our chance to slip in and look around. Come find me in D wing at midnight," Rayne said. She handed me a small clip about the size of a thumbnail. "Look this over. A vampire created the virus that broke out in the twin cities using pre-existing viral samples."

"Vampire?" I asked, raising an eyebrow. "That would explain why the zombies had fangs."

"Exactly," Rayne said. "The humans here are too stupid to believe something even if they've seen it with their own eyes."

"Yeah, that's called denial." _I happen to be an expert in it_.

"Its called a failure to adapt," Rayne snapped. She almost stomped her foot with impatience. "If those idiots haven't destroyed the vampiric genetics within the vaccination they'll be unleashing a vampire antidote."

"Okay," I chewed on that for a moment. "Wouldn't they have found that in the samples we dragged back from the cities?"

"You're going to leave this in the hands of incompetent idiots?" Rayne snarled.

"What the hell crawled up your ass and died?" I snapped back, losing my patience. "I don't even know you and I can tell you're acting weird." Rayne glared at me, eyes like daggers. I raised an eyebrow. "Its not even like you even need back up," I added. "Vampires _and_ dhampire always go it alone. You guys aren't exactly team players. So what's the deal? And _don't_ feed me anymore bullshit."

"That vampire, the one behind the virus, he might be here," Rayne said lowly after a minute.

"And?" I said. "You going to kill him?" At that the old Rayne, not this quiet sullen thing in front of me, lit up her face. That sly seductive, devastatingly lustful grin was in full throttle.

"Oh yes," Rayne said. "He's a five hundred year old cannibalistic, mother sucker and I am going to end him." _I almost pity that poor bastard. Almost._

"And what did you need me for exactly?" I asked.

"Insurance," Rayne said evenly. She looked me head to toe. "Try to wearing something less…dorky…tonight." I looked down to my army scrubs. "You look like an escapee mental patient." _Ouch._ That was not a reference I wanted to hear.

"Ha ha," I said dryly. "Try not to wear your daddy's throw offs then." Rayne shrugged. Her camo flagged army outfit highlighted the unusual white skin and red hair.

"And here I thought men loved a girl in a uniform," she smirked, stepping past me. She may have a point there.

"I think most prefer mail order uniforms," I retorted, continuing on my way. I stuffed the USB drive into my pocket. Looks like I have a girl's night out with Rayne tonight.


	64. Dark Rising

**Raziel**

With a standing order to eliminate the child, there was only one more late night task to accomplish before he left this facility: the awaking of those most afflicted by the virus. Those select few detained individuals, dubbed 'otherkin' by both the government and various popular media sources, would be needed to quell the uneasiness that still lingered in Raziel's gut. As an angel of order he was acutely aware of when such a balance act was about to be disrupted by an disequilibrium. The unsettling nature of this nameless, faceless disruption had taken root in his consciousness since the outset of this particular chain of events. Raziel mentally recited the Otherkin that would be needed: Dante and Trish Sparda, who lay yet in a drug induced stupor, Lucia, whom had contracted her particular illness nearly seven years ago, and Sarah, the fey bound human whom had arrived with Lauren. He knew without being able to properly explain that they would be, could be, and should be, key advocates to realigning tipping scale back towards the favored side of stability.

Raziel stepped quickly onto the elevator. The viral antidote that had been specifically created to combat both the virus as well as hold off the advanced viral immunity system of demon genetics was currently en route to the Sparda Suit. This particular antidote had not been tested, and would go untested until administrated to the aforementioned Otherkin. Once the antidote was administrated, if it was a success, it would go into mass production for those communities the human government wouldn't be able to immunize through normal means.

The elevator sunk. The Spardas were being kept under heavy lock and key on the most profound, habitable subterranean level the compound had to offer. Beneath the watchful eye of two elite field agents at any given time, they slept a floor above the less known subfloors of the compound. Nearly six more floors than those recorded in any blueprint of the building contained any multitude of viral samples collected since the beginning of bio terrorism.

The elevator rang, the doors opening. Raziel stepped out into yet another long and windowless corridor. He was quickly greeted by Chris Redfield, who appeared to be waiting for him at the end of the hallway. Chris passed Raziel through the security measures.

"How is this supposed to work?" Chris asked after Raziel had under gone the metal detectors, plastics detectors, and xray scans. He fell in step aside Raziel with a strong walk, a hand pistol was holstered at his him.

"I assumed Hunnigan had briefed you," Raziel commented, hands easy at his side as the two of them strode down the hall.

"I want to hear your opinion," Chris replied evenly.

"If everything goes according to plan, then the vaccination should work on them the same as it works on any normal human."

"If?" Chris asked.

"There are complications that could arise, as with any medical procedure," Raziel sighed. He knew Chris would not be satisfied until answered properly. "There is a small probability that they will both die during the vaccination; that the virus had embedded itself into their DNA."

"This could kill them?" Chris repeated, absorbing the information.

"There also the probability that this vaccination is ineffectual."

"Okay, and what's the bad news?" Chris said slowly.

"There's also the possibility that this vaccination has an adverse effect. That it triggers more erratic cell growth and manipulates the virus in a hyper state of evolution."

"They'd be infected."

"Yes," Raziel agreed, matter of fact.

"Better dead than infected," Chris sighed after a minute. "I don't really see any good way out of this."

"I'm sure they would beg to differ," Raziel said as they entered the military locked down Raziel thought of as the 'Sparda Suit'. "Life is always preferable to death."

"That woman," Chris pointed to Trish. "Likes me dead." He gave Raziel a flat look.

"_She_ is married to _him_," Raziel pointed to Dante. Attendants were already setting up the trays for the vaccination. Most of the electrical equipment had been insulated. The air was filled with tension. No one wanted a repeat of the event that had brought the woman here. "_He_ doesn't kill honest men. I would also like to point out that she is merely being sedated. She is-in no way-actually infected. The only real antidote testing will be done on him."

"They both have names," Hunnigan interrupted the conversation. She stepped up between Chris and Raziel. "Trish and Dante. If you don't want a repeat of earlier I would suggest you remember them." Chris sighed.

"Why aren't the other two here? Isn't that guy related-?"

"Vergil was informed of the procedure, he actively declined his invitation," Hunnigan said evenly.

"Seriously?" Chris asked. "Hmm. Must not get along."

"Lauren is not here due to health reasons."

"Health reasons?" Chris repeated. He was, Hunnigan thought crankily, beginning to sound like a parrot. "I don't like the idea of having little to no insurance as a back up," Chris rubbed at the stuble on his chin. "Who's the red head?" He nodded to the third patient being wheeled in on a gurney.

"On of my earlier patients," Raziel explained. "She also contracted the virus. I will be testing the antidote on her as well Dante." Raziel shifted uncomfortably, aware of the tension filling the field operative's body. "Her name is Lucia."

"This is going to be a royal fuck up," Chris said after a moment's consideration.

"So glad we're all on the same page," Hunnigan agreed. The prepations were nearing completion. It would be time to wake Trish next. Given her earlier actions, there was plenty of reason to be anxious.

**Trish**

The world was black and endless. Slowly, grudgingly she could feel herself clawing upwards from the depths of the black abyss. Like a drowning man taking his first shuddering breath when surfacing during a deluge, she was acutely aware her surroundings before she ever opened her eyes. The high-pitched, whiny sound of an accelerating heart monitor. The sharp spice of antiseptic cleaners. The smooth grit of a laxtex covered hands gripping her arms. The pin prick of pointed metal against her skin and the foreign feel of an injection, the liquids that were not of her nature invading the space between her blood cells like a marauding horde.

Taking a breath, the feeling of her numbed body began to return. Trish opened her eyes. The ceiling over head glared, blurry in a haze of light. Shadow figures donning the blue of a medical workers spoke in low voices as they shone a small flash light into her eyes. A third shadow approached, the two earlier ones making way for it.

"Trish, can you hear me?" the voice was calm. The man-it was a man-slowly began to solidify into a recognizable lines and details. His skin was pale, his hair dark black. He could have been human, but the eyes gave him away. Green emerald eyes, those could not human with the way they lit up from behind. It was as if the spark of a lightning bug had been permentantly affixed to his gaze. Trish made to move her body, to sit up and look this man in the face from a respectable distance. She found she could not move. There were no restraints on her body, yet all the same a dreamy haze lingered over her limbs, a numbness.

"Ah so you can hear me," the man said again, his voice calming blanket. "You've been sedated for the safety of the people who brought you here. Your body-no doubt-feels like the weight of a several tons at the moment. Don't be alarmed, that will wear off within the next two hours." Trish found herself clenching her jaw, the jolt of unfamiliarity making her mind lurch out of its drug induced stupor. She reached inside for the erratic buzzing well of energy and found nothing. _Nothing_. Her aura was sealed from her, depleted. There was nothing to summon.

"Calm yourself and allow me to explain," the man continued in the same calm voice. It was grating to her racing thoughts. "It's a story regarding Dante." The man knew her well she realized, because only Dante would have been enough to stop her from rampaging. "He is in this room with us as we speak, however he too has been sedated. He came into contact with an infectee of a bio-engineer virus. He contracted this virus through numerous bites and scratches. This virus is highly contagious. We sought to bring you here to ensure that the man in question was truly Dante."

"Before that however, allow me to tell you that we have created a vaccination to the virus. We will be administering it to Dante shortly, provided that maintain a calm disposition." Trish's fingers twitched. She could feel her hands again. She fully anticipated wringing this man's neck with them soon.

"Trish, this is important. Please calm down, we bear you no ill will. I am the doctor who created this antidote and I share it willingly with you. My name is Raziel," He paused in speaking for a moment. Trish realized he was reading the expressions on her face. That she could feel her face was a wonder at all. Currently she was glaring at Raziel. "We met, briefly, ten years ago at New Light, a monastery. Perhaps you recall, that particular church burnt to the ground ten years ago." Trish continued to glare. "We will be raising you into a seated position so that you may seen the remainder of this procedure. Please cooperate fully with us."

With that the top half of the bed was raised by remote. She could see the room now. It was as Raziel said. The breath caught in her throat as she witnessed Dante seemingly asleep across the room. Various machinery was hooked up to him: a heart monitor, an iv drip. Dante looked different however. Black lines traced the veins under his skin. The black veins covered his exposed skin.

"These black lines are a result of the virus he contracted. He found his body off shore on an island. He'd neutralized nearly 200 infectees before succumbing to virus. Luckily for him and you, our field agents were able to recover him in time. Currently we've put him on the Serium. Its not effective as an antidote, but it is effective in regards to preventing the virus from irreversibly altering his genetics," Raziel continued to use the same calming voice as he crossed the room. An attendant wearing blue was prepping some kind of syringe. Trish found she could wiggle her toes now. Feeling was cascading through her torso and thighs. She was acutely aware of the Saline IV drip between her toes on her left foot.

"This is our antidote," Raziel explained. Clear fluid spurted out from the tip of the needle. "Again, let me repeat myself. We are not attempting to harm you or him. We are simply trying to prevent the spread of this particular virus. Perhaps you'll recall the home visit of our field operative? They too were honest with you and meant no harm."

Raziel leaned over Dante, one laxtex covered hand going for his sleeping face. How long had it been since she'd woken up beside a sleeping Dante? Trish felt her breath hitch in desperation. This wasn't hell, but it was close. Trish could feel herself tensing between her shoulder blades. With a gentle thumb, Raziel pulled back the eyelid of Dante's right eye.

"We found that your skin heals far too quickly for normal injections, hence the Saline drip between your toes," Raziel did not look at her as he worked. "This antidote can not be injected via the usual intravenous methods. Due to this please understand that I am used the next readily accessible site of injection. This will, in no way, damage his health or his vision."

"…ay …..im," her vocal cords were not working properly. Despite the returning feeling, her body was yet sluggish. The needle was beginning a slow decent towards Dante's eye.

"….awa…..him," she said again, struggling against what felt like a body made of lead. Her heart monitor was accelerating into a dubstep beat. _There_! Had her hand moved in accordance to her frantic will? It had. It had, it had!

"This will not hurt him Trish," Raziel said methodically, never looking up. The needle plunged into the red corner of the Dante's eye as the clear fluid was pumped in. Trish felt her hand gripping-nay _bending_-the metal framework at the side of the bed. With herculean efforts she pulled herself into a sitting position.

"Relax, he's not threatening him," a man said. His voice was urgent and he was taking pains to sound calming. However the tinge of panic to his voice was as alarming as it was infectious. For the briefest of seconds, Trish tore her gaze from Raziel and looked to the man who was-through very little actual effort-pushing her back into a relaxed, reclining position. She recognized him and what was more, he wore the same grim look he had the last time they had met.

Defiantly Trish clenched her jaw.

"_You_," her voice was a rough whisper but for all of that carried the deadly accusations and insinuations with it.

"Listen you swung first," the man said. "I only reacted after you nearly killed my comrades. We really were just going to bring you here for body identification and offer accommodations if the identification was positive." The man pushed down harder on her shoulder, pinning Trish to the pseudo-soft medical bed. Trish hissed, feeling the pulse of anger and blood under her skin.

"Its finished," Raziel said, leaning back.

"And?" the man-what was his name?- asked, speaking the question Trish herself so very much wanted to ask. Although, perhaps not as nicely as he had. Her ears were open as she waited for Raziel's response.

"Now we wait," Raziel said. "It will take time for the antidote to do its job; just as it took a longer amount of time for the virus to infect him. We'll be closely monitoring his vitals until he regains conciousness." Raziel took up another syringe. Trish pushed back on Chris-who at this point could no longer keep her back against the bed.

"We were unfortunate to also receive yet another of your comrades," Raziel said, taking a step back from Dante. Trish paused, watching the long haired scientist move about the room. Chris pinned her to the bed again. Her eyes alighted upon a red headed patient. The last person in the room who appeared to be a patient.

"This will only be a moment," Raziel said, offering Trish a spare glance. Once again she fought Chris with an ever strengthening body. Once again Chris somehow managed to keep her from rising and unleashing hell upon the doctor and the room. Raziel leaned over Lucia-because it was Lucia who was laid out on the bed-and administered the same drug in the same manner.

"Now," Raziel turned to face her, "You must have questions." Trish glared at him, silent. "Release her Chris, you're clearly upsetting her."

"What?" the man sounded flabbergasted. Then it happened. The spring of energy flooded her being, the well cap disintegrated by the sheer force of it. Trish gave Raziel the faintest of smirks as the man began to show the smallest shades of concern.

"He said," Trish's voice was raw, both from disuse and from wellspring overflowing within, "to get your fucking hands off me." She lashed out as easily as she had always done. However, something went horribly, terribly wrong. The control, the second nature of it, wasn't there. Once it had been as easy as breathing or flipping on a light switch, but now when she struggled to gain control, she found herself confounded.

A blue bolt of electricity ricocheted about the room, cracking and laughing with a voice all of its own. The man who had been restraining her-Chris-flew backwards into the far wall from the shock of it. His skin was blackened where he had been touching her. Reeling, Trish fell back, in danger from her own attack. The lights flickered and black burnt spots appeared where the energy blast had hit the walls. The Electricity, her energy, was feeding off of the machines. It was growing and sucking away the bottomless source the light fixtures and machines and outlets offered it. Never in her life had she thought to use her power in this way.

She had only intended to repel the man. She no control, not of herself nor of her power. Desperately, Trish rolled from the bed and onto the floor, narrowly avoiding a wave of her own chaotic power. From her place on the floor she could see Dante, still as death and unmoving. Gritting her jaw, a rough tear in the corner of her eye, Trish began to crawl across the room towards him. Dante, Dante, he was weakened and she was putting him in danger.

Then there was a magnanimous flash. Standing over her, Raziel held an ethereal light. Blinking, it appeared to be a sword of an eerie green mist or haze.

"The circuits for the compound are overloading!" Someone's voice-a woman's shouted. "Even the generators to the viral coolers are beginning to over heat."

"Forgive me," Raziel said looking down upon Trish. His eyes matched the color of his sword. Trish drew a breath, remembering suddenly, why the name 'Raziel' sounded so familiar.

"Angel," Trish hissed, rolling onto her back. Energy was quick to leap to her hands, but it was weak and without control it fizzled into nothingness as quickly as she summoned it.

"You are hurting innocent people. I cannot sit by and allow you to continue," Raziel said solemnly, despite the ruckus her stray energy was creating. "I would never hit a woman otherwise." Trish couldn't react in time. The drugs were still hampering her movements and Raziel had nothing to fear at all. His blow landed against her temple knocking her consciousness backwards into the black abyss she and so furiously climbed out of. Just before that however, the lights of the room went out.


	65. Preludes & Aftermath

**Kain**

He could smell them as he lay on the cold, hard floor in the darkness. He could smell the perfume they wore and, like the musk of their gender, it permiated the air he breathed. He could smell the cold of the stone and hear the worms wriggling beneath the stone. He could heart heartbeats and the echoes of lies and longing in voices.

Sanity returned to him, elusive as a raindrop in the ocean. He was a lord of noble birth, king of the barren cold lands of the northern tribe. He ruled the land as far as he chose to, took what he wished from those who cared to travel his lands as tribute. Then that damned beggar woman came to his keep.

Indigo eyes of a trickster haunted his memory. He was wrapped in the safety of his memories, sheltered from the shattering torn fragments of what his present self had become. That ripping feeling, as if his very core had been violated and wrested from his grasp. Kain did not like the feeling of helplessness, having tasted its despair tipped claws only once in his life.

In the present the door to his cell opened. The scent of human woman-of food-became stronger. Kain breathed deeply, basking in the aerials of odors that crawled across the ground, desperate for his acknowledgement. For the first time in three days, Kain's eyes flickered open. His tongue ran across his teeth like a butcher who polished his knives to a gleaming silver.

The present came howling back to him. Kain became not just the little ignorant lordling of the barren north lands, but the strongest surviving heir to the dark legacy. He was vampire nobility. He would take from the weak lambs and become like lions of old. Kain was a bastard vampire with an unmoving soul of lead.

The vampire was hungry.

**Sarah**

**45 minutes later…**

Wailing along the long corridor of the containment ward was as thick as the layer of panic and fear that was now heavy in the air. The back up lights were on, casting everything in a red sheen of horror, but the sounds of screaming were only amplified. People, trapped in cages of glass and concrete, screamed as the virus surged and bloomed in people who had been-just a few moment before-fully normal and recovering individuals. Their desperate, haunting last earthly utterances and the sounds of chewing and tearing and the gurgling dying breath of human meals were sounds Sarah would not forget for years to come. She would dream about this moment, waking with stomach cramps in the pitch of night, whimpering for a light like a child. She would refuse to sleep in confined spaces and for a short while, would take up the habit of keeping a strong tablet of poison within reach of where she slept. Better to die of cyanide than the slow torturous death of being eaten alive.

Breathing ragged gasps, Sarah huddled in the corner of her cell, arms over her head as she squeezed her eyes shut. Hope hadn't been like this. She hadn't been trapped like this. Grant watched the plexi glass wall, crouched in the opposing corner. Across the hallway, the two women who had been kept together had both turned infected. The single man that had been with them was now being fought over-or rather his insides were being fought over-for dinner. Sarah gagged, the sound making the two women pause in their fight. Grant was quick to cross the room and shush her. With a hand over her mouth, he kept the two of them to the shadows.

The lights flicked back on, flooding the white space with brilliance. It was worse with the lights on, Sarah realized as she opened her eyes, blinking. In the dark all you could do was hear. In the light however, the real story went on display for everyone to see. Across the hallway, the two women fed on the dead man. Sarah hadn't known their names, but she had waved to them from time to time. The man-he'd been on vacation to the US when he'd gotten infected-was now unrecognizable. Down the hall, more screams were erupting, survivors of the darkness that had emerged with the light to the dawn of miserable daymare.

It wasn't long before men with guns came. Room by room, they cleaned out the infected the only way left to them. Then the contamination efforts began again. Sarah was again shaved, given yet another injection, and forced to part company with Grant. After being processed she was placed into a large holding room-it could have been a cafeteria-with the rest of the processed survivors. More than one person sat huddled here or there, some were crying quietly, others stared blanking into space, others more sat with agitated twitches and mutterings.

Slowly the room filled as more and more survivors filled the room. Food was eventually passed out. Sarah wasn't hungry. Instead she wandered the room aimlessly, her stomach churning and rocking. She found Grant leaning over a cup of coffee at the far end of the room. He was sitting alone and looked up as she sat down across from him.

"You made it," he said. She nodded, sitting.

"What was that?" she asked hoarsely. "They were normal. I saw them. You saw them, then the lights went out and they-"

"Who can say?" Grant said lowly. "We may be just like them in a couple of days." They were both quiet for a moment, chewing on that. About then the room was nearly three fourths full. There were far more people, she realized, present here than had survived the ordeal in containment.

"They gave me another injection," Sarah said, showing the bandaid to Grant. The old man nodded, rolling up the sleeve to his shirt to show Sarah his own. "It was different from the other ones," She stated, "the liquid was darker colored."

"We won't know anything that they don't want us to," Grant replied.

"But," Sarah began. Grant looked to her, over his coffee. He hadn't drunk much of it, she noticed. "You're a detective," she said plaintive. He chuckled grimly. He knew what she was asking whether or not she actually voiced the questions. He knew her that well at least.

"I have no idea why those people got infected and we didn't. I'm guessing the government doesn't know either and may possibly never know. However, they've never put us all together like this before. Maybe they'll be making some kind of announcement soon. In either case we can only hope we don't become like the others." Grant took a sip of his coffee. There were rings under his eyes, but he was alert. She knew the feeling. She was bone wary, after being woken with jarring screams. She couldn't sleep however, not after something like that.


	66. Dark Rising II

'None of you understand. I'm not locked up in here with you. You're locked up in here with _me_.'

-Rorschach, The Watchmen

**Lauren **

At exactly 24:25 a massive electrical shock overloaded every circuit within Colorado Delta Two. The rolling blackout that followed lasted for only 10 minutes, however places as far away as 40 to 50 miles away saw the electrical outburst in a the form of an usual Aurora Borealis. Not that it was out of season to see such a thing, but the aurora was unusually strong, visible even in well lighted districts of bustling cities.

Later on, the official reports would describe a dramatic increase in facility employees and operatives mortality rates during those 10 minutes. Several eye witness accounts-who would never seem to be able to be reached for comment after the reports became part of the public domain-indicated something of 'highly susceptible in nature' and 'beyond any damn thing I've ever seen' occurred. Of course the exact events that transpired during that little know 10 minute block have since become the kind of gold mine conspiracy theorists would sell their souls for. Despite this, historians do not debate that it was this event that served as a catalyst that ignited the changing cultural, social and political face of the present.

I don't wonder what happened during that 10 minute black out. I _know_ what happened. I was there with Rayne, re-wiring the automated lock on the ten-foot thick military grade metal door when the electrical surge first made the lights flicker. What I hadn't known at the time was that Trish had been the cause behind the black out. Nor had I know exactly what kind of 'research' Raziel's lab had at the time. I wouldn't learn about any of that for a long time after the fact. Not that any of it mattered in the long run.

"What the hell," I snapped, jerking back from the sparking wires. Falling backwards I watched as what should have been a dead circuit jump to life with snap, crackle and pop.

"Its an electrical surge," Rayne said, looking upwards at the lights.

"No shit," I grumbled, sucking on my finger tips. The lights shut down with a heavy mechanical sound, plunging the two of us into utter darkness. "What the freak is going on?"

"Its fine," Rayne said. I heard her step past me, towards the metal door I had been working on.

"_I_ can't see in the dark," I commented flatly, still sucking on my fingers. With a whining sound, dim red tinged lights kicked on. We both were bathed in dark shadows and red tinges.

"We're in a military complex," Rayne commented, "They have back ups for their back ups." I sighed.

"Without juice those doors won't budge. I'm good at jerry rigging an outlet, but I'm not that good."

"I didn't ask you to come here to be an electrician," Rayne said. With a flick she released an arm blade. Without hesitation she jammed the blade into the narrow crevice between door and frame. Pulling she slowly pried the door open. Those arm blades must have been strong, the metal didn't even dent as she pried the doors open. Rising to my feet, I helped her, putting my weight against the painfully heavy metal doors. When half the doorway was opened, Rayne and I stepped inside. The laboratory was all clear. Both figuratively and literally. There wasn't a soul to be found, instead clear heavy duty plastic, see through desks, tables and even walls filled the room. If it could be seen through, the lab seemed to have it.

In the center a giant box sat, devoid of any mechanical machine by a five-foot radius. It was hard to see inside the box. Ignoring the obvious signs of a scientific operation, Rayne slide up to the nearest computer and began her investigation. Her hands were surprisingly delicate with the keyboards.

"What are you looking for exactly?" I asked, making a slow circuit of the room. A lot of the computers appeared to be new. There was some heavy machinery that looked questionable along with vials and jars of various viscera that laboratories absolutely needed on a deep horror imbedded line of reasoning.

"Anything that looks related to what was on the USB drive." Rayne never glanced up from the computer. "Boot up the others," she said, hand flying across the keyboard. I did as she asked, not that it did much for some computers. It was interesting that not all the computers were on the emergency electrical circuit. Only about 3 of nearly 15 different towers actually came to life. It was going to be a short search if that was all there was to this.

"Won't those files be encrypted?" I asked when I was finished.

"If there were any files on these computers to be encrypted," Rayne was slow to reply. I left off on the stack of papers I had been rifling through.

"Say what?"

"This computer's memory has been reformatted," Rayne said rising to her feet. She moved to the next live computer looking deadly calm. "This one too. There's absolutely nothing about any viral research." _Um…._

"Are you sure this is the right place?" Rayne gave me a withering look.

"It took me the entire time I was here to locate this place and figure out the guard rotation cycle," Rayne sneered. "Of course it's the right place. It's the only doorway in the entire facility this heavily guarded." Her tone implied I was missing something very very basic with my cranial structure.

"Then why would they dump everything about the virus samples?" I demanded. "They're desperate for a cure. Hell, its not just humans who get screwed over if there isn't a viral cure." Rayne stood up, breathing slowly.

"They _were_ desperate for a cure," she said.

" 'Were'? As in past tense? You think they dumped the data after cracking the virus?"

"It would make sense," She said. "_We_ got in here. It wouldn't be hard for others to do so." _True, but we also locked a dude in a broom closet after luring him there under false pretenses. I'm pretty sure covert spies don't do that._

"So then where's the cure itself?" I demanded.

"Could be a recent breakthrough. No doubt we'll learn something sooner or later." Rayne performed a hard shut down on the computer. "Its time to go."

"Waitaminintue," I snapped. "You got me out of bed at midnight to look at blank computer screens and burn my finger tips?" Rayne gave me a languid stare. "I mean we're here and that's it?"

"There's nothing here," Rayne retorted, waving an arm to include the darkened lab. "Anything worth knowing…" Rayne trailed off. I rolled my eyes. Top secret military laboratories are seriously over rated in the movies.

"I'm going to get wasted after this," I grumbled. A loud fleshy thudding sound made both Rayne and I jump. We turned towards the source of the sound, the darkened plexi glass cube thing in the center of the lab. "What the hell was that?" I demanded. The same sound as before, like a fist hitting a wall. I exchanged a look with Rayne. Silently, Rayne let both arm blades swing forward. She stalked off towards the left side of the lab, silent as a shadow.

Fists clenching I took the right side of the lab. The dim light from the red emergency lights and the last lit monitor. Taking a deep breath, I moved slowly through the lab towards the box thing. Rayne moved in time with me and we swept through the lab like a wave, leaving no space for any invisible enemy to hide in.

Another thud sound, weaker than before sounded as Rayne and I edged around the box. Surprisingly on the other side of the box, there was a door. It wasn't a metal sliding door like in the rest of the compound. This door was make of heavy metal and swung on hinges. The sounds coming from the other side could only be made from a struggle of some kind. I gave Rayne a sharp look, my hand going to the doorknob. With a nod Rayne took up the space just right of the frame, two pistols appearing in her hands as the arm blades swung back into place along her arms. She waited for me. My thumb touched the ring on my middle finger, like a worry charm. They say never bring a knife to a gunfight, but if they saw the knife I was rocking they wouldn't say anything at all. With a flick of the thumb, Maelstrom-Death's scyth-came into being. Rayne raised an eyebrow.

I didn't bother to reply as I raised my foot up. The door came off its hinges easily when I used my aura with the kick. Of course, it didn't have nearly half the impact that it should have. The twin cities really had wiped me out, both physically and emotionally. High pitched, panicked sounds of screaming and the deeper, shouting voices of adults put my nerves on end. I know what it takes to make a kid freak out that much. I used to scream that way when I still lived in the orphanage.

Snarling I charged into the room. It was well lit. A generator was buzzing away in the corner, providing light for the freakish sight I was met with. Five men crowded around a chair, attempting to hold a small child in place and failing miserably. Next to them a single syringe lay open on a tray. The needle of the syringe glistened metallic death.

I remembered padded leather restraints and how they could bite into your skin but never leave a mark. I remembered being helpless as a scalpel-wielding lunatic leaned over my back and cut way a centimeter deep of flesh. I remembered a lot and it pissed me off. Just like it had with Rayne. I lashed out, not bothering to hold back. The only difference this time was the fact that I wasn't out of control, mentally speaking.

Reaching forward, my hand slammed down on the first man's shoulder. His back was to me as I yanked. Stumbling, the man began to fall backwards. Cue the knee I pushed up and forward, connecting with his cranium. He toppled like a bag of potatoes and didn't get up. Spinning, I flung out a high arching heel, catching the next bastard across the face. He too fell flat on his ass and didn't get up.

By then Rayne had shot out the knees of the other two men before delivering swift ass kicking to them both. The kid had stopped screaming when the last man standing began to realize he was alone in a room with three people who didn't care for him. The man made a break for the door. Rayne didn't hesitate and took off after him. I could hear her tackle him to the ground in the lab beyond the room. It was followed by some wet sounds. I could only assume she was feeding.

Turning I took in the now silent kid. He was a pale thing, a bit on the scrawny side. With pale white hair and pallid skin, he looked like he was somewhere between five and six years old. Not going to lie, the kid looked weak, maybe malnourished even. He looked at me with startling green eyes. The boy may have had twig thin arms and legs, may have had grey, ashen colored skin, but his eyes…_god_, they were _arresting_.

They were green in the way copper tarnished out, or how a newborn leaf unfurled. They were ghostly, with a dangerous spark behind them. I don't even know if I'm describing how different his eyes were. They weren't the hawkish intelligent of green that Rayne's were, nor did they have that liquid mercury chill of Vergil's eyes. They weren't the chocolate warmth that Hunnigan had without ever trying, nor were they the calculating cool of Leon's eyes. Instead they were fathomless and endless universe tucked away into the body of a child. _What kind of person did you have to fuck to get a child with eyes like that? _

Wordlessly, the child studied me as I studied him. He was still strapped to the chair. His silence was as compelling as the situation he was in. Gunshots echoed in the laboratory. Rayne's voice carried, snarling. More gunshots. The violence outside was enough to break my reverie. Stepping forward, I started to undo the straps on the kid after letting Maelstrom fall back into its dormant state. I hadn't even realized I'd let the ring change in the first place.

"You talk?" I demanded, not looking him in the face. "You have a name kid?" _Weird eyes and I know weird. Where did you get eyes like that? _He was silent for a long moment before speaking.

"Ash," He said, softly. His voice was like velvet, alluring for all the vulnerability it held. I knew what it was like to be in Ash's situation. I knew what it was like to be a powerless child in the hands of sadistic adults. I knew it better than most ever dreamed.

"How long have you been here?" I asked. Again he didn't speak for such a long time I started wondering if he even knew how; if the few words he had said were a fluke. I had finished with the straps on his arms and began to work on his legs.

"I have always been and always will be here," he said finally.

"Not if I can help it," I muttered. God what in the hell was Hunnigan doing, letting shit like this go on? A cure was important, sure, but what the hell did this kid have to do with it?

"I know," Ash said again in that soft voice. Blinking I finished with the last strap and looked up at the kid. It wasn't so much as _what_ he said, but _how_ he said it that was weird. It was as if he had whispered the words in my ear, like a lover. Reaching forward his hands cupped my face as I knelt. When I tried to pull away, he held me in place. He was strong for a kid. The warning bells were ringing, but the kid was studying my face. Those gorgeous green gems were scrutinizing every micrometer of my face, as if gauging my value and finding the task difficult.

"You're _perfect_." Again that soft voice, but this time it had depth and a timbre a little boy shouldn't have. Gold coins dropping into velvet, never making a sound but illustrious as any precious metal. His voice was as bewitching as his eyes. Nobody would call me perfect. _Never_ in a million years. Unnerved, I yanked away, rising to my feet clumsily. I backed away slowly, not looking the kid in the eye but watching him all the same. He was free more or less, and he remained seated in the chair.

"What are you?" I demanded, my voice rough.

"I am ASH," Ash said.

"Yeah I got that already," I said annoyed. Ash cocked his head to the side.

"You will help me?" he asked softly, a ghost smile on his face. "You are weak against suffering. That might kill you in the future Lauren." Creeped out, I looked to the kid with a new perspective, backing away another few steps. _What did Rayne just get me into?_ The words were too prophetic to be ignored, yet I had to ignore them in order to concentrate on the here and now. I could puzzle out what the kid-Ash-meant later.

Emerald green stared at me impassive and magnanimously, they were frigid and calculating despite that. Outside a raging gunfight began again, Rayne roared taking on military personnel. I heard the fight, without registering what it could have meant. I was transfixed in place when I met the kid's gaze. I was a doe caught in the oncoming light of a semitruck. The eventual results of this meeting would be just as pretty. _Where do you get eyes like that? _After the words left my mouth I realized I had whispered the thought out loud. At that, Ash's grin grew.

The overhead lights snapped on, flooding the room with near blinding light. I flinched from it, falling onto my ass gracelessly as a hippo, going snow blind for a moment. I was confused. _What the hell is going on?_ When my eyes had recovered, Ash hovered a centimeter from the end of my nose. He wasn't just in my personal space, his wraith like hands were on my shoulders as he leaned over me, sitting in my lap. He was light for a kid his age-near skeletal people usually are-but all the same I didn't want to touch him. Or have him touching me. I could feel the chill of his skin through my shirt. His quick breaths were steam warm against my skin in an uncomfortable way. The breath caught in my throat as it constricted in a near panic-like state. _His eyes, where the hell do you get eyes like that? _The green of his eyes were slowly dissolving as his pupils dilated, showing me the universe he had hidden away in his tiny frail body. It wasn't the miracle I make it sound like. Instead, it was a portent of vile and unspeakable things.

"_Oh_ _god_," I breathed. It would be the last prayer I would utter.


	67. Finish Him!

**Rayne**

_He_ was here, in the facility. _Kain._ Already he'd turned nearly five humans. Roaring Rayne lunged at them as they came, one by one, through the half opened door. Beyond the metal partition, Rayne could hear the insane laughter of the monster himself. At the front of her mind Rayne could feel the dark mass of Kain. Damn he was strong, but than again he had just fed. Proof of that- the freshly made vampire-infected-were ripping through the half open metal door.

Blade whistling, Rayne lopped one of their new underling's head clean off. It fell to the ground with a stomach-churning thud as she moved on to the next one. Her angels flashed in the now lit laboratory. Pieces of the underlings flew, an arm, half a hand, a leg severed just below the knee. It didn't matter. They kept coming, save for the headless one. Even worse two of them were sentient enough to remember how to use the guns that hung around their necks on straps.

It didn't take long for Rayne to realize they had the same corrupted blood as the others from before. The stench of them was thick on the air. From his place in the hallway, Kain continued to laugh, deep baritone gales of bubbling hysteria. Kain was _mad_. Turning Rayne finished off the last underling. Her left arm blade shoved tip of first through the turned's forehead, its trigger finger continuing to pull uselessly on the throttle. The gun clicked, no longer able to dispense bullet, the clip completely used. The woman-no longer alive and no longer an underling-fell to the ground unmoving as Rayne reclaimed her blade.

"I thought I smelled your _impure_ blood," Kain said, his voice grandiose in the way it carried. He stood, all 5000 year old of him, at the entryway of the laboratory. "How you live day to day with that stench is quite remarkable to me." Rayne bared her fangs.

"You're going to die Kain," she snarled, readying both weapons.

"Many have said that. All have failed," Kain retorted, easily. He smiled, fangs showing the carnivore that he was. "Have at me little girl. I long for a taste of you." Offended and enraged, Rayne attacked him. The elder was slower than he had been before, but in his element yet.

With a single hand, he ignited a Dark Gift, throwing Rayne across the room and into one of the many desks that littered the room. Coughing, inhaling smoke and feel the acute burn of sunlight across her arms and torso, she struggled to rise to her feet. Meanwhile Kain finally stepped into laboratory as aristocratic and disdainful as a lord. In his right hand he seemed to hold the very sun itself. Shielding her eyes with a stinging hand, Rayne glared at the vampire.

"This will be the end," Kain chuckled. His eyes gleamed, alight in with some emotion. Rayne hissed, baring her fangs defiantly, her mind racing. There was a way out of this, she just had to-

The creaking of a door drew her attention first, even as the supernova-the Dark Gift of Kain's that so reminded Rayne of the Sun she had never once seen-grew to star like proportions. Back shadowed by light, two figures stepped forward. One silently and effortlessly moved across the room. Kain was last to notice, but by then, the silent one stood directly behind him.

"No truer words have been spoken," a child's voice said. The slim form of a child, clad in white, was the source of the voice. He stood just in front of the plastic cube like room. Although she could see the child, Rayne couldn't quite comprehend his existence. The child's tone was both playful yet malicious and upon hearing it, immediately set her on edge. That aside, he was unnaturally still for a small boy. He watched Kain with critical, judging eyes, as if he found the elder vampire lacking in some way.

"_You_," Kain turned, anger at the child evident in the blaze of his eyes. "You're that _other _mind." The elder let the supernova fade, his attention fixated on the child. "_You're_ the reason-"

"It hardly matters anymore," the child cut him off. "I have no use for you." With that he gave an almost imperceptible nod. Kain's still beating heart erupted from his chest in spattering of blood and breaking of bone. The splanchnic was as gruesome as it was frothy and profuse. On her lips, even from place across the room, Rayne could feel a light misting of Kain's blood gracing her lips, her eyelids and skin. Blood fell from Kain's mouth as if to mock a waterfall. He had no words, choking on his life source, as he looked down to the still beating organ in puzzlement.

Then just as quickly as it had emerged, the vampire's age blackened heart was pulled back inside his chest. A delicate, feminine hand wrapped around the front of his neck, the hand nimbly coming to rest at the base of his chin. Violently it yanked, pulling Kain's head into a complete 180 degree turn, until his long, glossy snow white pony tale came to cover the hole that now oozed in his chest.

With a thud his body fell, the elder vampire no longer a part of this world. In his place Lauren stood, a black heart in her hand. The vampire's blood trickled down to her elbow. Rayne got to her feet with difficulty, releasing a breath she hadn't been aware of holding.

"Lauren," she said, both blades ready. She watched the other woman. Had the human snapped? Rayne knew better than most what that could very well mean. In her weakened stated, Rayne didn't think she would be able to fend of a crazed Lauren.

"You desired his heart on platter," the child said, his voice was a blanket laid over her confused mind. Rayne looked to the child, her stomach bottoming out. She reacted instinctively, baring both arm blades and hissing. For his part the little boy hadn't moved and hadn't taken his eyes off the dead vampire. His gaze flickered to Rayne. His eyes were as appalling as they were repulsive. It was as if the child had stripped her bare and seen through every thought and every secret she had ever held. Even the most intimate things written on her soul, the child was privy to. To her very core, Rayne recoiled, physically she stumbled back a pace or two, before holding her ground. The slightest of sneers, a cracked travesty of a smile, graced the child's mouth. "I have no desire for it," the child said, "you may do what you wish with it." The child was so sterile, she almost believed he was giving _his_ permission. As if it had been implied that he-not she-had been the one to lay claim to Kain's blacked heart first. The arrogance and audacity of it was astounding.

The wet sound of Kain's heart hitting the ground not more than a foot in front of her made Rayne jump. She looked to Lauren, who's front was drenched in Kain's blood. She seemed to stare back at Rayne, but the look was blank and opaque as to what her thoughts regarding the child may have been. In fact, she hardly seemed to be alive.

"Lauren?" She asked quietly. There was no reaction.

"We're leaving," the child said. He stepped past Lauren, his feet never making a sound on the ground. Without comment, Lauren turned to follow him.

"Lauren," Rayne called. She made no move to stop the two of them however. The seeping coldness the child carried with him, dissipated with each step he took away from her. The metal hard clamp across her lungs eased off, one unrelenting inch at a time. At the doorway of the room, the child paused. Lauren, a pace behind him, paused as well.

"Take us both from here," He demanded, turning to Lauren. "This way is unusable." Lauren did not react-her face and posture were stiff and deadpan-but she did begin to pool her aura within her palms. Taking a deep steadying breath, Rayne took a step forward.

"What are you?" she demanded. A large inter-dimensional portal ripped open on the floor of the tattered laboratory. The child did not give notice that he heard her, or even acknowledged her existence. Instead he gestured to Rayne with a careless flick of his hand as he stepped into the portal.

Lauren cast her dead gaze upon Rayne. The flatness of the other woman's expression was the only indication Rayne had before the full fury of Lauren's aura hit her like a tidal wave.

The pain of Kain's solar attack paled in comparison to the swirling depths of blackness that enveloped Rayne. Pain, pulsating and all encompassing washed over her. The breath was crushed from her lungs and the pressure-the unbearable bone rattling pressure-sapped her will to retaliate. Her will to fight. A dull hopelessness, a gnawing miserable feeling of worthlessness and despair-the hidden scars buried on the underside of her dhampire heart-emerged to the surface. The pains, fears and agonies were as fresh as the days they had been inflicted and Rayne felt them all, as if they were being imposed on her heart and body for the first time. The pulsating overtook her heart, replaced it, became her existence. For what felt like an eternity, Rayne's consciousness was suspended in a void that closely resembled the darkest, most vile crack of hell.

Then it was gone. Gasping, Rayne found herself on her knees in an empty laboratory. Tears, bloody tears, as all kinds of water burned dhampire skin like acid, ran freely from her eyes. Shuddering, Rayne took a breath, unable to move. The child and Lauren were gone. Sobbing, Rayne leaned over and began to throw up, sending the meager contents of her stomach to join the dismembered limbs, corpses, and puddles of Kain's blood on the floor. After she was done, Rayne swiped the vomit from her mouth, the tears from her eyes, and slumped backwards, utterly empty. She rested her back against the broken desk-the very one Kain had thrown her into-and became still, both inside and out. For the first time in her life, Rayne did nothing more than listen to the sound of her own heartbeat. The simple sound of it was all she needed.

They found her that way, nearly an hour later, sitting among the ruins of the laboratory.


	68. The Prodigal Returns

**Vergil**

There was a hard pull disrupting the barrier between the realms. Already, the infected demons he had sent out to the lesser developed human nations about the world were taking root. Small packets of infected humans were on the rise. Panic was beginning on local levels.

Those few chosen demons he had deemed worthy enough were already moving freely between the human and demon realms. They followed his command to the letter. No humans who were untouched by the plaque could be allowed to discover the presence of his hand at play. So far, no demon had been revealed to uninfected humans. Vergil had no way of knowing how far Hunnigan's net of information was cast. He had no desire to tip his hand before it was time.

Yet it was not the imminent invasion of the human realm that concerned him. That plan would either succeed or fail and truth be told, it was only another byway, a pathway to obtaining his ultimate goal. Instead, it was the sudden shudder of the barrier portal in front of him that was giving him cause for concern. The barrier was acting unusual, as if were moving a large amount of living entities among it and crackling with an energy unfamiliar to him.

He released his auric hold on the portal, letting it fall away into nothing. There was an unsettling feeling in the air and it seeped into his pores. The stink of it reeked like despair and terror. Absent mindedly, he studied the space the portal had been.

"My lord," Crod murmured. He knelt, the tip of his alligator snout brushing the ground.

"Something is wrong," It wasn't a question. After all these years, his senses were finely tuned to the waltz of hell's melody. The beat was off and the tempo was unfamiliar. The scent in the air likewise was abnormal even for such an abnormal place.

"My lord, you bade me to observe the humans in your absence." It was true, he'd assigned Crod, perhaps his only enduring and useful servant thus far, to keep a watchful eye over the affairs of the military complex. He'd been more preoccupied with how to deal with Lauren when she woke from episode and the leeching invasion of the human realm, that between the two tasks, he had little time to spare for Hunnigan and her brood. Vergil turned to Crod, wordlessly demanding an explanation, a steady hand-and lingering threat-on the hilt of his sword.

"Something is very wrong, My Lord," Crod began. "The plaque has reached that place, although no demon has defied your commands." The plaque had emerged there? What had gone wrong? Had some fool recklessly created a useless cure?

"And Lauren?" He demanded.

"I do not know Lord," Crod responded. "My observances are limited were My Lady is concerned. She shields her presence from me, but I do not detect her essence among the humans." _Lauren, gone?_ How was that possible? Pathetic humans, they always came unraveled at the seams, but where was Lauren? During an apparent-and unplanned-plague outbreak. He ground his teeth together. Of course the idiot woman would probably be found in the midst of it all.

"Come," Vergil growled lowly, stepping past the kneeling demon. He tread hard on the demon's hand, probably breaking a bone or two making his irritation known. It was a silent warning to the punishment Crod would suffer if the situation at the complex was as dire as reported. If Crod had failed to report such a serious incident earlier and Lauren really was gone from the complex, the demon would learn a new definition of pain. Although mostly useless Lauren was important, whether he cared to admit it openly or not. She possessed something he needed, the lying fraud that she was.

The situation was not only chaotic at the complex, it was a frantic mess of gun fight and shouting. Vergil stepped into his room to the sounds of orders being issued and heavy footsteps running pass his door. Lauren was not there, only her cast off clothing remained. Beyond the door the rank stench of tightly controlled panic permeated the air. Crod was close behind him as Vergil crossed the room. He couldn't pick out Lauren's scent among smells of human sweat, blood, and tears. Instinctively Vergil sought out Hunnigan, not sensing Lauren in a wider auric sweep of the complex. Instead of Lauren's pulsing aura he felt a deep pulling on his gut and the familiar feeling of having a second sensory mental input returning after a long dormant period. Colors hovered at the edge of his mind's eyes, always darting just outside of his peripherals, but that flame like feeling was unmistakable.

_Dante_.

So the humans did have a cure and apparently it worked on humans and demons. Lauren would have to be put on hold for the moment. Vergil set off towards his twin, both drawn and repulsed by the tie they shared. When he arrived, he came upon an interesting scene.

Trish, a human pacifist by necessity, held a soldier by the throat. Her nails were dug in deeply and the man's blood drenched her arm as she held him aloft with a hand. Her other hand was engaged in releasing a powerful electrical attack on several more soldiers huddling behind an overturned medical bed. The man Trish held began to affixiate, his feet kicking in the air as his eyes began to roll skyward. Behind Trish, Dante lay unmoving on a stretcher. His twin was conscious, though barely so.

"What have you unleashed?" He demanded, snapping at Hunnigan, who sat huddled behind a wall. A burn on her hand was wrapped loosely in gauze as she reloaded her gun. Blood ran from a shallow cut near her ear. Her gaze flickered to him briefly, but lingered on still bodies of several of her men. "Some day soon, your meddlesome nature will be the end of you." Hunnigan glared at him.

"Your observation is dully noted," she snapped, pushed beyond diplomacy, "fix this or take a hike." The gun clicked, reloaded. He smirked at the tone. She sounded a lot like Lauren. "She refuses to listen to reason," Hunngian added, the diplomat in her coming forward like a bad habit.

"Crod, stay." The demon bowed, taking position with a trident in hand. Ignoring Hunnigan, Vergil stepped into the room. As he did so he reached into the void between the barriers and selected an appropriate weapon from his ever-growing collection of soul arms. He came forward with heavy brass knuckles. The inch thick metal bent smoothly, following the flow of his fingers as he clenched a fist. Dull nub spikes covered the joint of each knuckle. The real prize of the knuckles were their aquatic absorption ability that would no doubt reek havok on Trish's electrical based attacks.

At the sight of him calmly emerging from the only exit of the room, Trish went still. Vergil however, passing huddled, terrified soldiers who were so far beyond their depth of experience they could only stare at him in horror like fascination. He gave the demonness an apprising nod.

"You've done well for yourself Trish," he smirked as she paled, releasing the choking soldier. Only in the presence of a midday thunder storm did a mere shadow realize how pitiful it was. In this case, Trish was a shadow, and he a thunderstorm. Vergil was counting on her pride-her pride as Dante's lover and woman-as a saved demon to bring her back from the edge. He succeeded beyond his wildest dreams.

"You," she snarled, forgetting the humans. "You set these humans on me." Twin balls of lightning gathered in her clenched fists.

"You were a whipping post under Mundus, if you care to be, you can do so again beneath _me_," he growled, lashing out. Trish's attention snapped to, eyes widening as she recognized the attack. She was quick to step back, barely evading his attack as she fell back to Dante's side.

"_Vergil_," Trish spit out, her face a mask of anger. "You _foul_-" Energy crackled, drowning out her voice. For once, Hunnigan had been correct, Trish was being unreasonable. She had a tendency to lose her mind when it came to Dante. Love truly was a moron's quest. "It was _you_."

"_Me_?" he demanded, the knuckles absorbing Trish's blast of auric infused electricity. "Work for _humans_? Use _humans_? _Me_? You simpering _ass_. Even that fool Lauren would have known better." At that the confusion etched Trish's face hardened into a stony mask.

"Lauren is _dead_," Trish growled. "You murdered her." At that he laughed, launching himself at her. Trish was caught off guard, strangely weakened. It wasn't much to pin her to the wall nearest Dante. He held her at the throat, just as she had the soldier, allowing her to know her place beneath him in power.

"They say ghosts walk at noon," Vergil smirked. Trish didn't know Lauren was alive. Interesting. Trish hissed, kicking him repeatedly in the ribs in an effort to get him to loosen his grip. He felt three of them crack beneath her blows, but did not bother to restrain her further. It wouldn't be worth the effort. Trish wasn't the important one. He glanced to Dante, still lifeless on the bed. "How long will you let your woman fight for you?" Vergil demanded of his twin.

He summoned the demon, his real self, letting the humanity fall away. Every sinister thing he knew, the memories of their parents, everything Dante despised, every failure as a demon, and as a human, every flaw imagined and real. Vergil took not the specifics of the link he shared with his twin, but any scrap of information Dante-or himself-had ever leaked, intentionally or unintentionally. Vergil took the information, not honestly caring about nearly half of it, and shoved it down Dante's mental throat. All the specifics, the hidden fears-if there were any-were only a tool with which Vergil could use to accomplish a much bigger goal. He knew his twin better than any other soul alive and he knew how well Dante would react to an authority-a foreign authority-telling him anything.

Dante responded just as Vergil knew he would, somewhere deep inside a fuse was lit. Pooling his aura, Vergil continued to let it fall into Dante, all the thoughts. Their lives as children, their struggle as twins, the day they began walking separate paths. Vergil was flooding the gas line and setting a match to the tank. His twin sucked on the mental coil of memories like candy, taking a deep shuddering breath in the process. Then the rolling, raging, consciousness flickered back online. Vergil felt it seconds before it happened.

He threw Trish aside, towards the soldiers still huddled behind the overturned bed. There may be protection-however futile-to be had there. Dante was on his feet in a wave of energy strong enough to make the lights flicker and further damage any thing in the room that wasn't already destroyed. With leather spiked skin, darkening by his own change, Dante rose, primal and instinctive. Vergil withstood it, secure in the knowledge that this Dante was as weakened as Trish was, even in his own demonic form.

Dante's fist was swinging, his nailed hand grasping, and he'd taken several steps. Vergil deflected the dismal blows, turning his full attention towards his twin. Vergil retracted the mental bridge connecting then, letting the line between them fall back into the disrepair and rotting state it had been in for decades. Before him Dante was slowly becoming fully aware of his condition. Blinking, Dante stared at his twin-not baffled, nor surprised, but perhaps confused if not ponderous of how he'd come to trading blows with a twin he could care less for. Dante backed off a step or two, lowered his fist, and sank slowly back onto the medical bed. The demon within Dante fell away to reveal the man beneath it.

"I didn't know you made house calls," Dante said, staring at Vergil with an annoyingly easy-going expression. His twin itched the stubble on his chin, taking in the ruined room and his own clothing. Vergil growled. Dante's mere presence was enough to infuriate him. He pulled back the demon, let the human mask fall back into place.

"It chills me to think we are related," Vergil retorted distinctively, giving Dante a cold, sterile one over. Dante wore the same non-descript scrubs Lauren had habbit of leaving on the floor of his room. They were grey and ugly but did not hide the body frame beneath it very well. For her part, Trish too, wore the military grade scrubs. They were both barefoot.

"Dante," Trish's voice was a harsh whisper, but could have been a near scream for all of its intensity. She stood, nearly frail, having seemingly to forgotten her mad rampage to kill every person in the room.

"Hey babe," Dante said, a crooked grin on his face. Trish crossed the room, not quite flinging herself onto him, but not exactly restraining herself either. From the look on her face she was torn between hitting him and kissing him. She settled on throwing her arms around Dante and burying her face in the crook where Dante's shoulder met his neck. Disgusted, Vergil turned away.

The soldiers who had been hiding pathetically were cautiously rising to their feet, their shaking knees barely supporting them. Further away, Hunnigan and Crod had entered the room. His servant took efforts to conceal Hunnigan behind his bulk. Vergil gestured to the trident in his hands. The demon handed it over without hesitating.

"Be gone," he commanded Crod. With a nod the demon was gone, back to the demonic realm, sinking slowly into the portal that appeared on the floor. Vergil was vaguely surprised the servant could now manage that much on his own. Hunnigan watched intently as the demon disappeared and was a moment in surveying the room, before she dismissed the soldiers. With a breath, she crossed the room, more wary of Trish and Dante than she was of Vergil.

"I hate to break this up," Hunnigan began icily as Trish continued to snuggle into Dante.

"Hunnigan!" Leon's voice rang out over the quiet of the room. All four of them turned to face a grim Leon who carried with him a flashlight in the darkened room. Dante and Trish took in the stranger, noting the military clothes. "We have a problem."

"Report."

"We have infectees crawling all over the building. Raziel's laboratory was broken into. I don't know what got out, but it turned several of the recovering patients," Leon was succinct and to the point. "We're in the process of locking down the complex and setting up a parameter. We've rounded up a number of survivors in the cafeteria, but there are still infected roaming the facility." Leon turned his attention to Vergil. "We can't immunize the infected. They need to be put down." Vergil smirked, giving Hunnigan a sidelong look of satisfaction. Leon as well, awaited her orders. Hunnigan was quick to prioritize what needed to be done.

"Take care of the infected," Hunnigan said to Vergil. "Don't you _dare_ assault those who aren't infected. Leon assist Vergil after you've delivered these two the medical center for a check up. While you're there, tell Raziel to report to central command on the second floor. I'll be coordinating the parameter there. You two," Hunnigan turned to Trish and Dante, "introductions will have to wait. Go to the medical center with Leon. You've been vaccinated with a drug intended to stop an infection however I want to make sure its effective before you're released into the wild. When you're done, find me, I will bring you up to date on the current situation." Trish blinked, taking in Hunnigan. "_Someone_ short circuited our generators, it'll be hard to get things under control with no lights." Trish opened her mouth to speak, a dangerous flicker in her eyes.

"You were _emotional_," Vergil cut her off flatly, the tone of his voice suggesting that the incident should have been as embarrassing as it was pitiful. At that Trish growled.

"Not all of us are as self satisfying as you," She snarled, giving Vergil a hateful look. "Lauren is dead because of you."

"Is she?" Vergil chuckled. "Should I apologize to her then?" At that, Trish took a half step towards him.

"Stop," Hunnigan moved between Vergil and Trish. "Lauren is very much alive and you," she continued to face Trish, "are not going to be able to see her until we've ensured that the vaccination is working. You," she turned now to face Vergil wearing an annoyed expression, "_stop it_. Now we need to move," Hunnigan barked, her voice boomed in the now empty room. It was enough to make Trish jump slightly. Not a lot of women had the gall to snap at a demon. "After the damages you've caused to honest people working here the least you can do is be cooperative now," she added with a glance towards Trish. With that, Hunnigan turned away, back poker strait and hurried off. Dante watched her with a lazy half glazed over look. He was being unusually quiet.

"You heard her," Leon said, breaking the silence. "We need to get moving." Dante looked to Vergil.

"This thing that serious?"

"I wonder," Vergil mused. "Just how many of those things did you let gnaw on you?"

"They were human," Dante retorted coolly, rising to the bait only slightly. He was still drained of energy, but his spirit was enraged. Without words, the two twins were privy to the memories of the other, should they choose to be. It had been a handy trick when they were little, as they got older however, the trick became more of a nuisance. The real skill to using the link however, was to not delve too far into the other brother's mind. It would only lead some place neither man wanted to go. Vergil had seen, as clear as day, what Dante had thought at the time he had been overwhelmed by infected human. He'd endured it as the flesh had literally been stripped from his body, all because of their Daddy's dream to protect humans. Dante had thought the humans could be _saved_. He gave his twin a cruel smirk.

"No they aren't," Leon cut in, before Vergil could respond with something a tad more callous. "Studies are showing they once a host has bonded with the virus on a genetic level, they become an entirely different life form. Once that happens there isn't enough normal DNA left to call them human. After a while they don't look it either." Vergil raised an eyebrow, waiting for Dante to make his decision. "Look, I know you're both related, but we need to get moving. The longer we take here, the greater the chance the number of infected increases."

_What an apt thing to say_, Vergil mused. Of course, the humans had no idea that in several months time, they would be overrun with infected humans.

"You're not fit for this war," Vergil dismissed his twin, turning his back on Dante. The brass knuckles and trident would be more than enough. Now that his idiot brother was a settled affair, Vergil turned his thoughts to his secondary objective. _Just where did that stupid woman go?_


	69. The Prodigal Returns II

**Dante**

Dante cast a cynical eye on his brother's retreating back. Despite the calm, placid demeanor he projected, his thoughts were swirling like a hurricane. The impact of Vergil taking up the nearly rotted link they shared and shoving so much across it…he was still processing everything that had been thrown-no _hurtled_-at him. Now however, it was just as it had always been, nothing but silence from Vergil. It was a relief, as Dante half believed his mind to be shell shocked.

Most of the memories Vergil had used to wrench him from the hazy black had been shared memories. The vibrant sparks of yellow daisies in a sunny meadow, a whisper of insane laughter-a demon lurking, warm wind teasing his hair as he stared at his mirror image holding a wooden practice sword. He was seven again. _En guard!_ White fluffy clouds danced in a deep azure blue. A crumblig stonewall held two knap sacks. Their mother's amulets twinkled in the light of the sun. The pelleting sting of a pre-winter rain, washing rivulets of blood from the hole in his stomach, Rebellion's hilt rising several feet over him like a mini teminigru. _Demons can't cry_, his mother was talking softly, trying in vain to explain to her sons, as they sat next to a fireplace. _You're mother's a whore!_ The solid feel of bloodied, swelling cheek under his fist. It was the first fight of so, _so_ many, just two of them against a round of classmates. Dust and sweat and the taste of blood in his mouth. A crack of thunder across the sky, a flood of water, blessed sweet water dripping down from the sky, a real human sky. Mud, thick and cold crusted in a hard coat from his knees down. The dark black stains of blood across the wooden floor of their home. Smoke and screams. _Hide! Hide! Hide! Don't come out! Vergil! Dante! Don't come out!_ The smell of sex and violence. Rape. Fire. Black. Rage. And helplessness. The memory of it still chilled him to the core until he wondered if it was possible to feel anything anymore, if he'd always be stuck there, in the mud and blood, transfixed in fear.

The memories kept streaming in, Dante continued to process all that Vergil had used to throw him back into action, to stun him back into being. The memories kept rolling in like an unforgiving tide. Dust, an inch thick, the heavy smell of alcohol. Constant hunger, a body that was never satisfied no matter how hard he abused it. Still that dark anger. The pain of the first time he skin changed, spikes pushing through, a caprice of armor growing over his muscles. Skin so thick it could withstand knives, bullets, needles, and swords. Most importantly swords. Red on black, a mouth on his neck. Sharp teeth and nails, Trish laughing. _Those_, now those were his memories. Soft skin on his, the smell of her blonde hair like spring and strawberries. That memory gave way to something else. Something foreign. Something Vergil had left behind in his haste to sever their link. Black strands of hair, sharp as etched glass and a furious, fearless bloodied face. A hand trapped beneath his-no Vergil's-foot. A yellow flicker of panther eyes, defiant, secretive, and somehow _sad_. It was the sorrow that didn't just annoy him, it infuriated him. Dante blinked, physically jerking from the last memories. Those last few weren't his. It didn't take a math whiz to know where they came from.

Trish was touching his bare shoulder, her fingertips cold. She was saying his name. Roughly he forced his thoughts away from link. He didn't want to know his brother's thoughts. He didn't ever plan on giving in like Vergil had. Dante roused himself, shooting her a reassuring grin.

"Sorry babe, never had a nap that long before," he said. Trish rolled her eyes, but the action did not erase the worry seeping from her person. She wasn't just worried, she was off centered. His Trish, shaken. Well, wouldn't be the first time. Dante turned to the man-their tour guide-rising from his seat on the medical table. Brown hair and sharp eyes. He carried several different guns on his person. He was human, every inch of him. The man looked at Dante with analytical eyes. Dante raised an eyebrow.

"Leon," the man snapped to, "My name is Leon Kennedy. You're Dante and Trish?" Trish tilted her head to the side, giving Dante a side-long look. She left it up to him to do the talking. "You're Vergil's brother," Leon clarified. He said the words with difficulty, as if he had a hard time believing the two of them could be related.

"Our family tree is something of a family weed," Dante responded coolly. Dante never had been big on personal introductions, he wasn't going to make any exceptions now. Leon nodded his head, taking that in before his attention to Trish.

"There's someone I'd like you to meet when we get to the medical center if you have the time," Leon said evenly.

"I don't make promises with strangers," Trish retorted. _At least none that you plan on keeping_, Leon thought, remembering how the plastic in Chris's transport had been melted. Trish eyed him, keenly, "If there is time," she shrugged. Again Leon nodded silently. He'd take what he could get. Chris was being treated for third degree electrical burns for the second time in half a year. He had been unconscious last Leon had heard. All that thanks to the skinny blonde in front of him. Rayne's words, the memory of her echoed in his thoughts, 'I keep my friends close and my enemies closer'. Were these two friends or enemies?

"Right. Follow me and I'll catch you up as we go." He turned and began to lead them through the complex hallway systems of the compound.

**Leon**

"It started ten years ago," Leon said after a few moments. His pace was a quick one but the two behind them had no trouble keeping pace. "An engineered virus-the T Virus-broke out, infecting the employee force of an underground facility owned by the Umbrella corporation. The security AI of the facility turned homicidal after detecting an uncontrolled pattern of infection. Everything would have been fine, but Umbrella opened the sealed facility, and the virus got loose into the general public of the city above the research facility. Racoon City," Leon paused, summoning an elevator. They needed to go up. Guards lined the hallways they used. Hunnigan was going to process these guys, but she was going to give them the illusion of control in the process. If either Dante or Trish were to put up resistance, both of them and himself would be filled with enough Amplyfy to sedate an elephant. He would most likely overdose on the stuff, but it would subdue the two of them.

"The upper management of Umbrella fled with samples of the T virus. There are hidden laboratories across the globe where they continue to research the T virus. New viruses have since been created from the T virus. The uroburos virus was the latest, most widely spread and recent outbreak known globally. On a national scale, we've undergone a recent rash of outbreaks with no noticeable patient zero to link them together. There was a town, Hope, located in Arizona. It's a charred ruin now, but I met Lauren there. We picked you up at a different outbreak sight. You were the only survivor," Leon glanced over to the pair of them, trying to gauge how they were taking the information.

Trish look bored, her arms crossed. Dante had an arm slung over her shoulder, but he appeared to be listening. Leon sighed as the elevator came, stepping on board. Trish and Dante followed him. Leon continued as the doors to the elevator slid shut.

"We wanted to bring Trish in to identify you," Leon said, as impersonally as possible. "The few records we were able to find on you were incomplete at best." Leon sighed. "Trish didn't like the color of the car we picked her up in." He turned to take in the long haired blonde. "You put two good agents in the hospital and nearly killed one of my close friends." Trish raised a cynical eyebrow.

"Oh him," she said breezily. "Chris Redfield," she continued, "of BSAA, sent to my home to assess threats."

"BSAA?" Dante asked. "Bull Shit Association of America?"

"Bio-terrorism Security Assessment Alliance," Leon said, ignoring the jeering lilt to Dante's voice. "He does assess threats, that is one of his job descriptions. Is only objective was to bring you in." Trish gave him a smirk. "You resisted, he pumped you with tranquillizers." Leon ignored the look she was giving him. These people were pissing him off, but he was a professional. The elevator came to a halt and Leon stepped off, continuing his story.

"We've gathered samples for the last ten years. We have a cure for the virus now, one that accommodates for your unique genetics." Leon led them down the hall. The wounded were almost nil. Infected never took hostages. "Granted the government didn't know of the existence of Otherkin until recently. We've been scrambling to accommodate the needs of the majority along with Otherkin needs."

"Otherkin?" Trish asked. It was the first time something other than bore or disinterest came from her mouth.

"Its your designator," Leon explained. "A person with qualities exceeding the human condition. Vergil, you, him, Lauren and a few others have all been designated with the title of Otherkin." He came to halt. "This is the medical ward." He gestured to the bed. Chris lay sedated on the near by bed, the entirety of his right arm was blackened.

"That's Chris. This is the second time he's gotten third degree burns from you." Two medics came up to them. "They're only going to do a regular check up. Monitor your pulse and blood pressure, check pupil dilation, maybe taking small blood samples to ensure the vaccination is working properly. There will be an escort waiting out in the hallway to take you to Hunnigan. She'll be able to answer any further questions you have. I'll see you both later." He nodded his goodbye and left. He had to rejoin Vergil in the field.


	70. Clean Up I

****Hey all, I'm back...will update again in August, fingers crossed...for now, however, enjoy.

**Dante**

Smoke, thick and fetid, contaminating his lungs. Blinding his tearing eyes. Through a veil of ghost fire the hideous black outlines of moving figures and their mother's agonizing screams. Eva Sparda's last moments corroded into a memory that depicted actions so black and phantasmic that, over time, it seemed to become an evil with a galvanizing thirst for pain. Sometimes he wished it had been nothing more than a terrible, terrible nightmare.

A light flashed in Dante's eyes, forcing his wandering mind to snap back to reality. He was still processing everything Vergil had thrown at him when his twin had opened up the shared mental link. The light flashed back and forwards again as the medical technician studied his pupil reacted. The technician was frowning, scrutinizing his eyes. The technician was a cute brunette. Freckles spilled over the edges of the facemask she wore.

"See something you like?" He asked her casually, giving her a boyish smirk. It was a weak attempt to salvage himself from the mental wreckage that now filled the space between his ears. The technician focused on him for a moment.

"Your eyes aren't dilating properly," She said. He raised both eyebrows, leaning back on the medical bed. He was still out of it and couldn't be bothered correcting the young lady examining him. His eyes _were_ dilating, however the technician wouldn't be able to see that unless she started using machinery a little bit more advanced than a flashlight. He shifted once more, taking little consolation in the fact that the brunette _wasn't_ digging around for something more advanced.

In fact, Dante was uncomfortable in the medical ward, though he would never let it show. He was getting a lot of attention without a shirt on and not all of it was positive. Many people didn't mind sizing him up, but most were giving him a wide clearance. Eyes that studied every inch of him skittered away when he sought them out. Voices became hushed when he was within earshot. It didn't take a genius to figure out something was up.

The freak contaimination treatment he was used to, but only in small quantities. It was a charm that most underestimated him. It was a curse if too many didn't. His gaze drifted briefly to the burned man. For the most part the man was unconscious, but he was moaning in his fitful rest. A sure sign of pain; Trish hadn't held back an iota.

"We'll move on to the next test," the technician said, pocketing the small flashlight. She readied a syringe and needle. "This will feel uncomfortable for a moment. If I could have your arm?"

With a mental sigh, Dante offered her his arm, already anticipating the shock on the woman's face at the sight of his blood. The woman had no idea how many needles had found their way into his arm in his younger years. Demonic genetics…it made anything other than alcohol null and void. Even then, the sheer number of calories required to maintain his physical strength, endurance, agility and stamina was staggering. The empty calories alcohol offered was a cost friendly alternative to raiding the local grocery store twice a day. He remembered the last time he'd gone to the grocery store alone…

The daylight shone through the windows, making her eyes glitter a mischievous yellow as she smirked at him. It was early afternoon and she was laughing with her panther eyes. _You can't keep me here forever Lancelot_. He could hear his own response whimsical but detached, analytical. _Is that so? By all means Lauren, impress me. _

He was anticipating something interesting from the woman in front of him. Not more than a week since she'd been sprung from captivity and already she was crawling the walls and prodding him for proverbial weaknesses. He regarded her. Pale unhealthy skin and a weak aura, she wore nothing more than a shirt that fell mid-way between her hips and her knees. Where did she honestly think she was going?

Although the shirt made her legs look shapely, it also highlighted the still healing bruises and burns she had suffered. She shifted uncomfortably under his gaze, still unmoving. The slight movement was rigid and brittle, indicating just how much discomfort her back wounds were inflicting. The Order had carved her up like butchers. Her hair hung in loose waves and curls down her front. He could smell her scent from were he stood. It was somewhat intoxicating without the constant curtain of smoke to hide behind.

She cocked her head to the side, the light in her eyes tilting a shade into contentment. Fisted hands found their way onto her hips. The way she moved disrupted his thought process; she was impatient to leave, but not to actually move. It was a different sort of reaction, somewhat unfamiliar to him. She was actively changing her own mind for once. Strange. _If I behave like a good girl do I get a BLT?_

"Dante? Sir?" Dante blinked. That hadn't been a shared memory. That one had been Vergil's memory. The technician held the needle and a filled syringe. The blood in the syringe was a healthy dark red. It shimmered where light hit it, giving off a faint iridescent cobalt shimmer. How had that memory triggered? He'd intended to think about the last time he went to the grocery store alone. The damn building had nearly fallen down around his ears when a pack of stray demons had showed up.

"….," Wordlessly Dante rose to his feet, taking back his arm before the technician could waste her time trying to mop up a wound that wasn't there. "Do I get a shirt sometime soon or should I start charging a fee?" He asked, only half joking at this point despite the swagger.

A faint tinge of pink colored around the edges of the facemask. The woman-well girl really-strove to be professional. It was an attempt worth admiration as she'd been openly oogling both him _and_ Trish since they'd arrived. Horny girls he was used to…horny girls giving his woman a one over, while not being completely new, wasn't exactly a tradition he wanted to perpetuate any time soon. Trish wasn't something he wanted to share with anyone.

"There are proper clothes in the next room. The lady, your companion, is already changing. Its been requested that you join Hunnigan at the operation center." Dante nodded to the young woman, heading to the door she had indicated. His mind was still in backlash mode. Vergil really had probed hard to wake him up. He had to wonder how much of himself Vergil had taken by accident.

**Vergil**

She wasn't here. Her scent lingered, but he didn't feel her aura. The trident slashed. The infected infront of him erupted in three streams of red, his face cut into thirds as the weapon continued its downward decent. When the prongs of the trident had reached the infected's neck , Vergil twisted tearing nearly half of the neck apart. The infected fell, unmoving. Placing a boot on the man's body, he wrenched the Trident free.

"Was that necessary?" Leon demanded. He looked a little green in the gills. Vergil glanced over his shoulder at the human.

"… … …" Vergil raised an eyebrow.

"You should honor the fallen. His family may have wanted to see him one last time before he was buried," Leon said evenly. "Many people who work here haven't seen their family for half a year. A sudden loss needs closure."

"… … …" Still, Vergil said nothing. There was nothing to say. Save that which he would never say. In absence of conversation, Leon filled the silence with several well placed head shots. Three more infected dropped to the ground, neat bullet holes in their foreheads. Vergil was beginning to suspect that he didn't much care for the human he was paired with. He didn't hate the man, but he was equally indifferent to his fate in this little garbage sweep.

"Honor the dead?" Vergil mused. He hefted the trident, looking Leon in the eye. With a well-placed throw Vergil hurtled the trident through the air like a spear. Leon blinked, eyes struggling to follow the projectile as it impaled an infected into a wall. The hostile flailed for a second before going limp. "I see no difference between these putrid infected and the rotting meat you so honorably term as the dead." Vergil strode forward, recovering the soularm and tossing aside the body of the dead infectee.

"That's cold," Leon said flatly, following Vergil's lead. He stepped over the dead infectee. "They were _people_." Leon took aim as they came upon the ruined doorway of Raziel's laboratory. Gore already coated various surfaces. Just a few paces inside the doorway, several infected hunched over in group. It turned Leon's stomach to think of what they were doing.

"So?" Vergil sneered, gesturing to the crouched group. They were feeding on an unrecognizable mass. Blood coated their mouths, their faces and hand, tracked down their chin in waterfalls of red. "It was _them_ who failed to honor the living. Them who succumbed." The hostiles were rising to their feet, attention zeroing in on the two of them. They were faster than the other ones, Leon noticed. Their motions were less jerky and more fluid. Leon readied his gun, sliding a fresh clip home.

"Survival is granted to those with an iron will to live," Vergil growled, his voice crawling through the room like poisonous haze. Leon blinked, looking to his temporary partner, somewhat distracted. Vergil straitened his back, gripping the staff of the trident in one hand. The trident moved, of that Leon was certain. It didn't look like it had moved but he had distinctly gotten the clear mental idea of some kind of movement. In the dim light, Vergil was still standing with his back tall. The hostiles were still advancing towards them. Leon whipped his pistol back into a ready position, it had fallen to point towards the ground with his distraction.

The lead infected jerked as Leon tensed on the trigger. One by one they fell as they struggled towards the two men. The final infected, the last one to remain on its feet, fell not more than a pace away as deep cuts on its upper thighs split open into gaping wounds. Those still capable of it, looked to the two men, hissing and scrabbling for purchase.

"These creature have more will to live than most humans," Vergil commented. He took a step towards the flailing earth bound infected. Leon felt the gun dropping once again, as he watched Vergil, wordless. "In this regard, it could be said that these putrid abominations are more alive than those who have fallen into death's embrace." Vergil raised a foot. Leon didn't watch but he heard the wet sounds. "Do not delude yourself into believing that you are releasing them from a tortured existence. You are merely delivering them into the blackness of true oblivion."

Leon didn't want to think about the validity of Vergil's point. He didn't think he could handle undoing several years of counseling and after mission therapy sessions by even considering the idea. Nor did he want to consider how the infected had fallen when himself nor Vergil had moved, despite the fact that he knew Vergil _had_ moved. Instead, Leon focused on the here and now, the only thing that really mattered. He had long since given up thinking of the past, unless of course, it was to justify the present. Instead another figure had drawn his attention.

"Rayne," Leon's voice was quiet as he holstered the gun. The dhampire was sitting in a pile of wreckage, the remains of what may have been a very expensive office desk. Her knees were drawn up and her head was lowered, cradled in her arms. Leon approached her carefully, momentarily forgetting Vergil's presence. The dhampire didn't react to his voice. She didn't respond as he drew near. He could hear her steady breathing as he knelt beside her. Gently he placed a hand on her back, choosing to ignore the warning bells going off in his head.

"Rayne?" At that she looked up to him. She was pale, not that that was unusual, but she wasn't the same Rayne he'd last spoken with… "Where you attacked?" Leon asked, his chest going tight for a moment, "Are you hurt?" Rayne stared at him blankly. Her clothes were blood spattered and torn. The handles of two very sharp arm bound blades were gripped tightly in her fists. As she stared at him with an empty face, he noticed the blood spray dotting her face.

"Rayne," he said again. He turned to Vergil, only to notice that the man was leaving the room. "Hey!" Vergil didn't bother to respond or offer help, instead he left at a steady clip. The sounds outside of the doorway, just within earshot make it very clear what his target was. With a sigh Leon turned back to Rayne. She was quiet and unmoving. The sounds of gore dissipated and Vergil did not return. Leon didn't bother worrying about the tall white haired Otherkin. Instead he helped Rayne to her feet.

"It'll be okay," he said, gently guiding her towards a chair. The dhampire didn't quiet shake, but she did tremble. It only last for a few seconds at a time, but the tremors were persistent. "Take a seat here," he directed her, pulling up a miraculously untouched rolling chair. Gently he pushed Rayne into the chair, careful of her arm blades. "You're experiencing some kind of shock. Rayne focus on me," Leon bent over until he was eye to eye with the dhampire. "Listen carefully. I'm going to secure this room. After that we're going to infirmary bay. Understood?" Rayne didn't respond, instead with lifeless doll eyes she watched the pile of remains the infected had been feasting on.

Leon circuited the room in less than ten minutes. The story bits he accumulated didn't add up and the ones that did were unpleasant. The only lit part of the lab held a restraining chair and a syringe filled with toxin. When he came back to the main room, Rayne had risen from her chair and crossed the room. She was standing over the meat mass.

"Rayne?" he asked quietly. She looked to him, face cast in heavy shadows. The cat glint was reviving, but for the most part, Rayne was still resembled a waif. For a moment, he was frustrated and nervous. Until he saw the long arm blades. They gleamed silver, clean of any blood. Before they'd been red. With a sigh, he crossed the room. He took Rayne's arm and pulled her into pace with himself.

"Let's go," he said flatly. "You need to…eat. You'll feel better afterwards. The infirmary will have something for you." She said nothing and didn't resist. Almost meekly she followed him. The unnatural behavior unnerved him and it wasn't just the dhampire who was acting up. Vergil had been acting strangely too. Vergil had been extremely violent and fast moving, not that he knew the man well, but he hadn't seen that intensity in the Twin Cities operation. The situations were similar, however, why would Vergil be calm in a city wide hot zone, but have problems with such a small outbreak?

Leon shook his head. No time to think about that now. Rayne followed him, wordlessly as he pulled her along secured hallways. Clean up crews and scouting teams alike passed the two of them as they made their way to the infirmary. The whole way Rayne said nothing, her gaze listless and void. Things were fucked up, big time. What the hell had happened to create an outbreak?


	71. Clean Up II

**Hunngian**

"Get the intercom system online," Hunnigan snapped, entering central control. The place was a flurry of movement as agents scrambled to get their technology back online. "Surveillance and communications are priority. We are being attacked in our own turf. You," She jabbed a finger at the nearest operative. "Get me a secure line to our active field agents. We have teams that need support."

"Ma'am, status update." The voice came from the left.

"Report," Hunnigan crossed the room, leaning over to take in the operative's monitor.

"Generators are at 70%. We have a team currently repairing the last generator. Communications are back online. Surveillance is 50%. The electrical surge wiped out nearly half of our eyes. Our perimeter is still down and overall we have regained 60% functionality of the base. We are establishing a satellite link with both the pentagon and the white house."

"Good. Keep the communication tight, I want this building locked down in two hours. Somebody get me a headset and link to agent Kennedy."

"Yes Ma'am." The headset was ready in seconds. Hunnigan took a seat at her own computer and opened up the link to Kennedy.

"Leon, this is Hunnigan. Status report."

"Copy that. Levels 2 and 3 are secured. Friendlies have been detained in the commons area on Level 4. Teams are currently sweeping through Level 1 to the surface."

"Understood. And Vergil?"

"He went on alone. Rayne was recovered in one of Raziel's laboratory. She needs medical attention. I'm escorting her to the infirmary." Hunnigan cursed under her breath. It would be dangerous to leave an unbalanced 'dhampire' alone with the current chaos. Vergil acting independently was an equally unappealing idea.

"Any indication of viral patient zero?"

"Raziel's lab was bad. From what I've seen, I'd say it started there or became a problem there." That was not reassuring. Was there a problem with the vaccination? Hunnigan shook her head. That wasn't possible and even if it was, it wasn't something she could afford to focus on at the moment.

"Copy that. Return to active duty once Rayne has been secured."

"Understood. Leon out." Hunnigan switched over to a different communication frequency.

"Hunnigan here. Friendlies status update," she requested.

"Ma'am," an unfamiliar voice broke into the line. "We've neutralized all hostiles. Infection risks have been detained in the commons area on level 4. We're setting up additional medical support staff now for further inspection of infection risks."

"Understood, begin clean up was soon as possible. Level 4 is at a code yellow. Repeat."

"Detain, clean up on yellow. Copy that. Over and out."

"Hunnigan out." Hunnigan leaned back for a moment. On her monitor she drew up a map of Delta Two. Mentally she pinpointed known areas of outbreak. Level 4 was the most obvious location for a viral outbreak. Detainees capable of serious infectious risks were held on Level 4 until they could be cleared with a clean bill of health. However, an outbreak on level 2 could be just as justifiable. Raziel's laboratory and who new how many viral samples were held on level 2. However, upon a viral outbreak, bio scanners on each floor would active failsafe protocols. The area of viral contamination would lock down automatically and secure.

Assuming the massive electrical surge temporarily knocked the bio sensors offline, it was understandable that the viral out break would spread to level 3 as well as level 1, the surface level. However, what didn't make sense was the point of origin. It was as if two very localized points of viral contamination had erupted near simultaneously, when compared to the timing of the first field reports. There were several different ways she could determine which level had first received a viral outbreak. Leaning forward, Hunnigan switched back to Leon's communication line.

"Hunnigan here."

"Leon responding. Go."

"Change of orders. Secure Rayne. Retrieve Raziel. I'm not locating him on any our surveillance or bio sensors." That damned witch doctor had some explaining to do. How could an outbreak happen at a highly secured military base? Leon hesitated before speaking. She knew how much it killed him not to return to the front lines when an outbreak occurred.

"Change of orders to retrieval. Understood."

**Raziel**

He hovered as Lucia's eyes began to flutter open. The quiet room was steeped in Matier's prayers. The elderly woman was whispering quietly, pleading for her daughter to be returned to her to any caring deity who would listen. Lucia took a slow breath, her eyes opening slowly. Just as both Dante and Trish had. Raziel nodded, satisfied as he drew back. Dazed Lucia took in her surroundings as Matier rushed to her side. They began to speak in fluent French. Quietly, Raziel took his leave, allowing the mother daughter pair to continue their reunion in private. Lucia's voice was escalating in volume as Matier's calming tones interjected.

It was done. The child was gone, taken away in his own self-importance. The Otherkin-those who could stand in the face of the horrors to come-were assembled, just as he had forseen. As the angel of order and things to come, it had been a tremendous task to arrange. All the dominos were allined. Raziel made his way to his personal quarters. There was something yet to be done before the next act of this play could begin. The key of the Accord, that which would shatter the binding threads of preconceived fate-was also gone. The child was shrewd and dangerous. He had known the potential of this…folly…when creating the child.

The Final Reincarnation of God on Earth. The words held a kind of terrible implication. Raziel knew, without being able to properly communicate _how_ he knew, that the child had been self-aware the very moment he'd been born as a conscious, living being. Raziel also knew-and it was this truth that drove him to act with haste-that the child _remembered_. The child's cognitive abilities were far more reaching than even his own-and Raziel had lived many, many centuries. Yet God-as both humans and otherkin understood the concept-had a memory that spanned all of creation.

God, particularly that one of the old testament, was not forgiving of betrayals. It was a most grievous betrayal that had imprisoned Him in Death. To be sentenced by His own creations to suffer a thousand, thousand mortal reincarnations. Until a vast majority of His power corrupted soul had been exorcised of its evil and that the few bits of good that still remained were allowed to rejoin the cycle of change and progress Death represented. The God that remembered that and yearned for revenge, that was what Raziel, above all else, feared. And it was this god that the breaking of the Accord had released ten years ago.

It was the god Raziel knew, without understanding how he knew, that he had unleashed on an unsuspecting world. This world was not ready for whatever devious machinations an enraged god would set upon it. The humans of this world were not ready to deal with the truth of such a god-let alone the actions of one. That was why Otherkin were so necessary. Why the creation of the different species had been deemed necessary in the first place. Why there was a hierarchy of life forms, put into being centuries ago at the conclusion of the Great Celestial Wars.

It had taken bloodline of his entire race to subdue a power mad god during the formation of the Accord. A God-Raziel remembered bitterly-that had played as both Devil and God to his creations. He had pitted demons against angels for his own twisted enjoyment, watching as nature and humans and anything else betwixt the two super species suffered. Was it any wonder that the humans echoed that perverse sense of enjoyment of life and death? Did they not participate in death matches during the roman empire? Did they not torture each other in times of war? Did they not subjugate each other?

It was decided amongst the demons, angles, the folk, and those many, many other fragments of existence God had created. An Accord-an agreement- was born and the entire world waged war on its creator. Known in the whisper of legend only, the Celestial Wars had all but exterminated his Kind. Only handful of Angles had survived over the centuries. Until now, only he remained in addition to a hybrid.

The Key. The only Key.

Loki, a fragment of God, had created her own fragment, imbued it into a human. That human was the hybrid. The child had taken the hybrid with Him. It unnerved Raziel that the child saw right through even the best his preparations and plans.

Scrambling, Raziel flung open the drawers to his desk, looking for the one thing he would need to tip the scales back in favor of human-and other-kind. A war was coming, and Raziel would see to it that right side won. Regardless of whatever weapons the child god had stripped them of. The object he was looking for greeted his hand with sharp pin pricks, dotting his flesh with welts of blood.

Closing his hand around it, the pin pricks increased, biting into his hands with jagged teeth. Raziel pulled the object free and nearly ran from the room. With that objective completed, he needed to see the stars for the next part.


	72. Clean UP III

****D'ooohhhh...ain't Dante and Trish so gooey when they want to be? XD

**Dante**

He entered the changing room. Trish was literally pulling on a loose grey shirt as he shut the door behind himself. Pale shoulders scattered with flecks of brown freckles flashed before the shirt fell into place. They'd given her some kind of soft grey workout clothing. The shirt was tight in all the right areas, but the pants didn't do much. Small wonder that they'd let him change in the same room as her.

His mouth touched the empty space just behind her ear. Her back stiffened and she didn't turn to face him, despite the fact that she was particularly sensitive there. She took a long slow breath as his hands settled at her waist. She was overwrought with anxiety and frustration. The nervous, lost Trish from before was buried under a layer of cold hard bitch. She was annoyed with him and she would make a point of letting him know that. He didn't care.

"Babe," he said softly, a hand going around her waist as he nuzzled her neck. Trish, turned to face him, not backing off. The melting look of concern in her eyes had been replaced with a snapfire blaze. She looked so cute when she got frustrated. Her cheeks were already a pale pink.

"You-" she began, her words hard as whips.

"Bitch later, kiss now," Dante interrupted her. He kissed her again, his mouth finding hers. This kiss pulled no punches as he drew her near, pressing her hips against his and feeling the curves of her melt into him. She was irritated still, but if only for a split second, he could drown it in his desire for her. His Trish. He breathed the scent of her, sun kissed strawberries, and knew satisfaction. She was panting by the time he pulled away. Gently she rested her forehead on his shoulder, refusing to meet his gaze.

"You were gone," she said hoarsely.

"Yeah."

"You didn't come back." He tangled his hands in her hair, felt the smooth curve of her back.

"Yeah."

"They came instead," she whispered. She took a ragged breath and abruptly pushed away from him. She looked him in the eye, near heartbroken. "I didn't hold back. They were human and I didn't hold back and I don't regret it." He tilted his head to the side, memorizing the way her bangs fell across her forehead.

"That would explain the evil eye I've been getting," He said easily.

"They hate me for what I did to that man."

"I'd hate them if they did that to you," Dante responded. Tears-unborn-made her eyes take on a haunted crystal glaze. He cupped Trish's face in his hands, sliding his fingertips along her smooth skin. "You will fix it. You'll also pay me back for the green star." He released her and stepped back, his gaze traversing her body. "I get to pick the form of payment." He smirked.

Taking a quick step forward she wrapped her arms around him, burying her head in his chest. Nothing needed to be said. They were two of a kind, his Trish and himself. Dante let his hand stray to Trish's waist, pulling her closer as his other hand came up to cup the side of her face. She was so damn pretty. Lines of worry and loneliness were slowly erasing from her skin. He thumbed the corner of her mouth before drawing her near. She tasted like strawberries and sunlight, felt like silk under his hands, and purred like a kitten. His Trish. A tamed demonness. The kiss went deeper and the kitty began to bare her claws. The back of his neck pricked as Trish lightly scratched at the skin there. He could have shivered. He had missed Trish. The hand at her waist began to slide lower. Trish either didn't care or wanted it to happen. A loud crashing kept the two from progressing. With a jerk, both were on the defensive upon hearing the sound. Trish glanced at the changing room door.

"Its not demonic," she said, a shade of reluctance in her voice.

"I think they'll notice when we don't come out," Dante said lightly. Trish flashed him a naughty grin.

"I thought the nurse was your new friend."

"She seemed to be more into you than me," he retorted, reaching for the doorknob.

"No," Trish said in denial. She paused, her voice curious when she next spoke, "Really?"

"You're hot merchandise," Dante glanced over to her, "The nurse has good taste." Another loud crashing sound rang out on the other side of the door. Trish winced.

"Open the door Dante." Silently he nodded, his spare hand curling into a fist.

**Rayne**

Leon's had was warm upon her arm. She could hear the sound of his heartbeat as he pulled her through soldier infested hallways. Her mouth watered. She was weakened, she realized dimly. Whatever that child was, simply being around him was draining. Lauren…what had she been thinking?

_Still numb from a single glance_, Rayne followed Leon dumbly. Her thoughts were racing, however. Kain was dead. She had failed to kill the bastard who'd held her against her will. Anger, it was muted. Despair, it was overwhelming. Two emotions she could usually control with ease. That child had stripped her of all her defenses.

Rayne shifted her gaze to Leon's back. The man had known without even asking that she needed to feed. He was taking her to the infirmary for blood bags. She was irritated. She didn't want cold blood. It tasted foul. She wanted something warm..and alive. However, she knew better. She would drain Leon dry without restraint. Rayne didn't want to kill Leon. He was entertaining to be around. Content with that thought, the idea of something positive no matter how little, Rayne resigned herself to quietly follow Leon's lead.

When they reached in infirmary, the assaulting familiar smell of blood made her stomach bottom out. The very scent of it made her mouth water and her fangs emerge from their dormant state. That blood she knew very well.

"The Arcardian," she whispered, going tense and loose at the same time. Leon turned to her sharply.

"What did you say?" Rayne watched with sharp eyes as a nurse stood back, revealing another red hair. This red head, unlike Rayne, had perpetually tan skin. Her eyes were green.

"_Lucia_," Rayne purred, tasting both the name and the memory of the woman's blood upon her tongue. Leon's gaze snapped to the other woman and he tightened his hand on her arm.

"Nurse," he began, his voice filled with a caution and dread. Rayne didn't give him the chance. She was drained of any humanity and the hunger, the driving force to feed, was taking over. Shaking him off, she crossed the room in a matter of seconds. Upon seeing her, Lucia reacted, caught off guard and surprised.

Rayne pinned the demonness, straddling her. Rayne's mouth latched onto the other woman's neck, teeth tearing into flesh. The infirmary bay erupted into shouting and screams. Each mouthful was bliss. Lucia smelled so alive….so…warm. Red trickled down Rayne's chin. She hadn't tasted Lucia's blood in nearly five years. Oh, she'd missed Cajun styled blood.

"GET OFF YOU BAT SHIT CRAZY BITCH!" Lucia roared suddenly, snapping Rayne back to the present. With a foot, Lucia kicked Rayne, hitting her mid torso. Rayne flew across the room, taken by surprise. Dazed, Rayne crashed into Leon, both of them going to the floor in a heap. Lucia glared at the dhampire, holding the healing wound at her neck. "What the hell!" she shouted. Her next words were fluent French, not that you needed to know the language to know what she was saying. Blinking Rayne stared up at the ceiling, wondering just what had happened. There was blood in her mouth that she didn't remember putting there.

"Rayne," Leon groaned from under her. "Why?" That was an odd sensation as well, laying atop Leon. Trapped beneath the dhampire, Leon attempted to rise. It was near impossible. The French woman stomped across the infirmary, pushing aside medical staff as she went.

"What were you doing!" She demanded coming to halt. She glared down at Rayne and Leon. Her eyes softened into shock as she took in the dhampire. "Shit," she whispered, sucking in a breath. "You're starving." Reaching down she yanked the dhampire up. Coughing, Leon rolled onto his stomach. She held Rayne's wrists, forcing the dhampire to stand in front of her at a distance that was impossible to be bitten at. The woman stared at him, frowning.

"Who are you?"

"Her babysitter," Leon said weakly, rising to his feet. "She's not just starving. I think she might be in shock."

"A little food and she'll be alright," the woman said, her French accent thick. "I'm Lucia." Lucia nodded to Rayne. "I've known Rayne for ten years. The leech will drain you dry if you let her."

"No kidding," Leon said flatly. He turned to waiting infirmary staff. "I need several blood transfusion bags, preferably ones you've got an overstock on."

"Sir," a technician stepped forward, uncertain.

"I'll take care of the damage," he replied, anticipating her question. "They're both otherkin." It was enough of an explanation. The technician stepped back and hurried to find the supplies he requested. "Take her over there," Leon nodded to a vacant medical bed. Lucia nodded, herding Rayne towards the unoccupied space.

"You're a busy boy." The voice disrupted his thoughts. Dante and Trish were standing at hand, wearing grey sweat suits.

"Have you ever dealt with a starving half vampire before?" Leon asked, absent mindedly. His hands patted his ribs, making sure there was no bruising or breaks.

"Once," Trish said dryly, watching Rayne. Leon nodded.

"Tell me a story some time."

"Sir," the technian had returned. "The supplies you requested."

"Thanks," Leon took the blood bags. With a sigh he turned towards Lucia and Rayne. "You know her then?"

"Both of them," Dante replied evenly. He studied Leon, before shrugging. "You're here to babysit us too?"

"Maybe," Leon said. He waved the blood packs. "Give me a moment. I'll take you all to the central command in a few seconds."

**Hunnigan**

"Ma'am all hostiles have been neutralized. All hot zones are being swept by decontamination teams."

"Roger that. How are we on surveillance and communications?"

"Facility generators are back at 100% functionality. Our eyes are intact and back online. Facility communications are fully operational. We have not established a satellite link to either the pentagon or the white house."

"Satus update on the detainees."

"We are 50% complete with detainee processing. Suspected infection cases are being housed in isolation in the detainment wing. The rest are being returned to the commons area to await further instructions."

"Excellent. Prioritize clean up detail and detainee processing." Hunnigan leaned back taking a breath. It took a lot of mental concentration to coordinate the efforts of the facility. She cued up Leon's link. The communication line opened with out difficulty however, Leon was already talking to someone.

"Are you telling me you saw Raziel when you woke up?" A woman's response was clear over the intercom.

"I think," she said. Her voice was heavily accented. "I can't be entirely sure."

"Raziel told us you were one of his patients. A prior case of viral contamination." The was a long pause.

"I was…commissioned for a job…there were peopled who were very sick." The woman's voice turned dark. "They were biting and eating each other. Several of them attacked and bit me."

"Was your client's name Fullum?" A male's voice-Dante-asked dryly.

"Yes," Lucia said darkly.

"Don't tell me," Leon began.

"We were contacted to ensure the integrity of an island the Fullum's owned," A different woman-Trish?-spoke.

"That's a little too convenient to be a coincidence," Leon said slowly. "We can find out more about this Fullum guy, but first I need to get the three-four-of you to central command. Chances are 'Fullum' might have been involved with the viral outbreaks caused by Umbrella Pharmaceuticals. A lot of the higher ups in their bio-weapons applications programs are currently missing." At that point, Hunnigan choose to interrupt the conversation, filing away what she had heard for future reference.

"Leon, Hunnigan here. Have you located Raziel?"

"Hunnigan," Leon began. "Haven't located Raziel yet. Latest reports confirm him to be near level 1."

"In short we have no idea where he's at.

"Same could be said for Vergil," Leon responded.

"Roger that, putting out a full ATB for the two of them. Report to central command with the Otherkin whenever able to."

"Copy that," Leon said. He hesitated for a moment. "I'll be escorting four of them. One of Raziel's patients was an otherkin." Had she not been eavesdropping before, the news would have taken her by surprise.

"Understood. It seems there's a lot Raziel has kept from us. The facility has been locked down, we are beginning clean up detail."

"Right. Leon out." Leon clicked off the line turning to the four inhuman people surrounding him. Rayne was regaining her sanity as she sucked on her third blood bag. Lucia was finishing up her medical examination, while Dante and Trish lounged nearby.

"So you three were all commissioned by the same person for the same job?" Leon asked.

"So it seems," Lucia agreed.

"Great," Leon sighed. "On top of that Raziel-out main viral researcher-has gone missing."

"Main viral researcher?" Trish asked blankly.

"He's the one that developed the antidote to the virus for both humans and otherkin."

"Otherkin?" Lucia asked.

"It's the term the government has designated you with. It the term used to describe a condition exceeding the human condition. Basically you guys are stronger, tougher, and more reliable in a fight than most soldiers. Hunnigan can give you a better explanation than I can," Leon said.

"Vergil is with you guys?" Dante asked, his voice quiet but casual. Leon glanced from Rayne to him.

"More or less," Leon said. "We recovered him when Lauren-our first identified Otherkin-attempted a jail break."

"Lauren," Rayne said, speaking for the first time. Her voice was rough and wet sounding. "Where is she?"

"What?" Leon asked.

"She was with me. She," Rayne paused her eyes beginning to glaze over as she remembered.

"Don't think about it," Leon said curtly. "You need to feed right now." With a slow nod, the dhampire resumed her feast.

"Lauren is dead," Trish said after a moment. Lucia sighed, looking at the ground.

"She died ten years ago," Lucia added.

"Maybe we know two different people," Leon said. "Because the Lauren I know can't seem to die no matter how much she tries. Tough as nails and fiend for cigarettes."

"Hmm," Dante replied, exchanging a quick look with Trish. He rose. "I'm going to find Vergil." Turning Dante headed for the exit.

"Hey wait a minute," Leon began, moving to follow him.

"Tell me about your friend," Trish said, capturing Leon's wrist. She nodded towards the bed bound Chris. "I acted out of line." Leon sighed, looking from Trish to Dante's retreating back. "You don't have to worry about Dante," Trish said with a small smile. "Instead, you should worry about what he'll do when he finds Vergil, but before that, your friend."


	73. The Wild Call

**Raziel**

The small pond was nearly three miles away from the compound. Iced over in the chill of winter it made a perfect mirror of the sky. It didn't matter the nature of the water, however, as all water inevitably lead to other worlds. As a universal conduit, water acted as a pathway between the realms of existence. Raziel clenched the small object in his hand. Blood flowed freely. Holding his bleeding fist over the frozen pond, he let the blood drop steadily onto the icy mirror surface.

"Aqueous Vita," he muttered quietly. The waters of life, this was not what he needed. Instead of life, he sought the other side of the coin of existence. "Aqueous thantos," he murmured. Death water. The realm his sister, Loki, resided over. His blood burned crators into the pond ice, creating a pockmarked mirror. The water began to melt, maintaining its black appearance. Temporarily the water was enchanted by his blood, creating a pathway to death. Raziel held the small object up to his mouth.

It was the thorned key, taken from inside Lauren during the breaking of the Accord. It was the only means to contacting his sister. He had claimed and held onto the key, anticipating its use in a time such as this. For a silent moment, Raziel considered the message he wished to send to Loki.

"The God is reborn," he said finally. "He possesses your fragment and desires war among the living. The final act of this war is beginning. I beg of you, be ever vigilant. I have done all I could. Forgive me sister, it may not have been enough." With that Raziel dropped the key into the now churning waters. Upon receiving the key, the waters rolled, as if they were boiling. Slowly the darkness of the night leeched into the water.

"And what exactly is it that you have done?" A voice asked Raziel. Raziel turned away from the alchemy the pool of water represented, corporal sword at hand. The wraith blade-an insubstantial blade of ether with the deadly ability to drain its victims souls-glowed a hazy green. The blade coiled up Raziel's arm, forever bound to his person and his soul. In the darkness the red eyes of a demon regarded him. Stepping forward, the moon glinted off of Vergil's trident.

"Tell me angel, what have you done? Where is Lauren?" The demon took a step to the side, intent on circling the angel like a predator. Raziel would not be made a pawn or victim, however. He was literally the last living member of god's family. Raziel stepped to the side, joining the demon's circle.

"Vergil," Raziel greeted him slowly. "I've no idea where Lauren is."

"Lies are unbecoming of your race," the other responded. "You _will_ tell me what you know."

"I am neither bound to do your bidding, nor do I have a desire to do so," Raziel said evenly. "If it is Lauren you are seeking, then go forth and seek her."

"Do not throw your dogmatic sentiments at me." snarling Vergil lunged. Raziel greeted him in kind, distinctly remembering what it was to be a warrior once again. Their weapons clashed. The prongs of the trident trapped the corporal sword, as was the weapon's ancient function. However Raziel's sword was the only one of its kind, and not that of a fallen demon. The sword passed through the trident's prongs as if made of smoke. Narrowly, Vergil avoided the gauging tip of the wraith blade. Drawing back, he flipped the trident end over end, sizing up his opponent.

"I have underestimated you," Vergil commented, a smirk on his mouth.

"Clearly," Raziel agreed, triggering his soul arm. The ancient hieroglyphics of angelic scrolling lit his skin with a ghastly blue-green. The scrollings-holy apocrypha describing an angel's fate-that every angel possessed was writ upon the flesh like scripture. Raziel was more than certain the teal green of his aura lit up his eyes like those of a phantom's. "I am no more to be trifled with than you are."

"Then what would you suggest?" Vergil demanded, cool but disgusted. "To sit down and talk over our differences?"

"That would be preferable, as I am currently engaged with more concerning affairs," Raziel retorted. He turned his back on Vergil, approaching the black waters of the pond. "Bear witness," Raziel commented over his shoulder, "and you will have the answers you seek. It is water that binds all of our worlds together, as you should well know." He nodded to the pond. "It is by water we were born."

A white light shot out of the little pond, erupting in a spray of violent steam and droplets. It was as brief as a shooting star, but the surge of energy that came with it was no meager thing. In an instant, the winter chill of the night was pushed aside by a far more deadly cold. The stars and moon winked out in the sky, leaving nothing but a deep pitch-blackness behind. The white vastness of the snowy ground and the black outlines of slumbering, stick like winter trees vanished in the all-encompassing darkness as well. Vergil tensed, readying the trident.

Instead of a foe, the darkness began to glow from a singular light source. A wan, pale silver lamplight illuminated a small circle. The silver light alighted in Raziel's out stretched hand, gentle as a butterfly. As Raziel closed his hand, the world came back into focus. The stars and moon existed once more. The deadly chill retreated into the regular cold of winter. A winter that-while still-was not stagnant nor as unloving as the previous darkness. Likewise, Raziel's scrolling had retreated from plain view, fading back into his skin.

Without turning to him Raziel stretched out the arm that held the silver light. With a hand he let the object fall from his palm. It dangled in the air, suspended by a thin fine chain. The jewel that adorned it glinted weakly in the moonlight; Vergil could just barely make out the bends of a celtic knot. It was a necklace meant for a woman, not like the heavy medallions left to Sparda's sons.

"Do you begin to understand? More is done now than by any of your petty machinations." Raziel cast a knowing eye upon Vergil, his eyes once more aglow with a ghastly green light. "Loki bids me to return this to you," Raziel's voice was quiet and rough with age. "When the time is ripe, it will serve a valuable cause, should you choose to part with it once again. The owner will be both an enemy and a friend, a master and a slave, a pawn and a manipulator of the games to come. Loki also bids me to say this: fate alone turns a blind eye towards you, make use of your freedom as you will. It is your right to do so as you are the only one truly free." Vergil watched the gem dangle in the breeze, unmoving and unreadable as a stone statue. Raziel chuckled wryly. The sound of it was deadened further by the previous blackness. "With this, the final act of your servitude will commence," Raziel paused. "Do you still desire to continue our conflict?"

**Elsewhere**

In the compound, deep in the ground Sarah felt a deep squeezing of her gut. It held a sense of finality, the kind she'd felt when her brother had died. Blinking, she looked up from her place at the table, trying to ascertain what it was that had given her such a chill. Taking a breath, she ignored the sinking feeling. There was no use dwelling on the past.

Hovering over his friend, Leon took a sharp breath. He tasted fear and despair, hopelessness. The tang of dejection wrenched at his stomach, settling next to the gloominess that still lingered there. Chris turned painfully in his morphine induced state. Leon took a breath, he was used to fighting when all the odds were stacked against him. The shudder of memory-of what Racoon City had left him with-was shrugged off quickly enough. Leon didn't dwell in the past, not when the present was so damn important.

Next to Leon, Trish, Lucia, and Rayne looked up, all of them facing eastward. What was so incredible at the time, was the near synchronized way they did it. No one woman paid any mind to the other. Each was intent on something unseen and-to Leon's knowledge-unknown. The moment lasted for only the briefest of times, and afterward each of the otherkin looked to the other, unable or unwilling to name what it was they had shared. When pressed about it, none of them could put into words or expressions Leon could easily understand.

"Just as well," Trish said after another interviewer had stomped off annoyed, "There's no use lingering in that place."

Dante, knee deep in snow and nearly half a mile from where ever his twin was, stopped stock still. He faced the direction his twin was located, feel the strong wave of hopelessness and stillness wash over him. Dante knew fear, understood despair, and had made it his life's work to refuse on giving in to either emotion.

Just as Vergil was dead set against helpless love and caring, Dante was deadest against giving into fear and helpless despair. The wave stopped that internal struggle for the briefest of moments and allowed Dante to feel-truly feel-complete and utter emotional defeat. It was brief-by human standards-but it was poignant. Hesitating for a moment afterwards, Dante questioned the wisdom of tracking down his twin. Shaking his head he continued his trek, even going to far as to pick up his pace. There may have been a lot of shit that had gone down between the two of them, but at the end of the day, Vergil was still his family. One didn't cheat on the present with one's past.

Deep in the enchanted forests buried in untouched wilderness of Canada, the Fair Ones felt the call. A wave of sadness, and of regret, nearly ruined their joyful frollick. Among them, the most effected were the human-fey hybrids. They felt the darkness of the emotions most strongly. Their leader, a direct human descendant of the great Lord Obrion himself, volunteered later in their counsel to set forth and discern the source of the call. The Fair Ones may have retreated from the world of humans, but they had long memories among their kind. They did not dwell on past errors if it meant preventing future ones.

Buried in his gadgetry, Mike watched as his program recorded data numbers that should have been impossible save for in the event of a nuclear holocaust. He'd wasted now time making his technology more efficient. As such, he'd watched the whole outbreak transpire, had recorded data like a fiend, and was now currently furthering the efficiency of his technology to include previously unknown data values. The more Mike saw, the less he liked of it. The less he liked the Otherkin, but the government did pay Mike for his opinions.

Through out the world the negative call demanded the attention of those who would hear it. It demanded that those negative emotions be answered, that the call was acknowledged and that through this call, a subtle change began. Neighbors were kinder to each other, strangers were more tolerant. In the days to follow the wild call, the world waited, trembling, for what would come next.


	74. Ludicrum Fatum

**Dante**

It was bitter and the winter chill had settled over the land like a frost bitten shawl. Despite this, Dante kept up a steady trot, ignoring the cold. The chill was pervasive, seeping past the thin layer of sweater cloth like water. In his weakened state, Dante could feel the cold making ice water of his blood. Not that he let it deter him. For a steady fifteen minutes Dante covered a distance that would have taken an average human nearly five times the amount of time-and energy-to cover. When he came upon the clearing, the low rumble of a conversation abruptly cut off.

Vergil was standing with his back to him. Another-an angel?-faced Vergil and himself. A vague memory teased, dancing on the edge of Dante's consciousness. Dante swatted it away, impatient and wary of Vergil's mental whiplash. The clearing was unnaturally still and the strangeness Dante had felt earlier still lingered in the air and earth. The howling wind from the trek before was gone, obscured by the thick birch trees. A black pool of water reflected a darken moon as it flitted from cloud to cloud above. The angel was still, haloed in weak moonlight. He studied Dante with a stoic expression, the black of his scrollings sluggishly moved across his skin. Hieroglyphs detailing the fate of an angel were always present in an angel's skin, they never stopped moving until the day the angel had met the conditions of their pre-determined destiny. This angel had scrollings that glowed an eerie green color in the moonlight.

"It would seem Loki choose well when dealing her hand," the angel commented at last. Half turning Vergil took in Dante, a hand going to his pocket. Ignoring the angel, Dante strode forward, studying his twin. Something was very not right with this. He could feel it in his gut, but then, the village idiot would notice this scene. Vergil was unmoved, giving nothing away as he returned Dante's questioning glance. After a moment Vergil returned his attention to the angel, clear disgust following the brief curiosity. Whatever conclusion Vergil had come to, it was probably right.

"What kind of bullshit is this?" Dante finally demanded of his twin.

"…" Vergil said nothing. He was uncharacteristically motionless, not bothering to throw his twin a disgusted look. Instead, Vergil ignored both Dante and the angel, bowing his head for a moment in silent consideration. Turning his back to the two of them, Vergil began a slow trudge back towards the compound. Dante scratched his head as he watched his twin go.

"What-" he started.

"I am merely a messenger," The angle said, holding up an arm in a gesture towards Vergil. The skin of his arm glowed, unfamiliar glyphs and hieroglyphics illuminating portions of his skin. "The message I was to deliver was not meant for you." The angel spoke matter-of-factly, as if all this not only made sense but should have been obvious.

"I know you," Dante said, searching for the memory that danced just beyond his grasp. Wincing he stopped after he somehow managed to recall a faint glimmer of a blood bath he was fairly certain he hadn't created. The angel nodded.

"We have met before," the angel agreed.

"Where's your wings?" Dante demanded after a second, only half joking. The angel raised an eyebrow.

"Where are your horns?" At that Dante laughed. _Touché_. He considered the angel for a moment more before losing his smirk. He looked back to his twin's retreating back, a dark idea infecting his thoughts.

"He won't answer any questions, regardless of how they are asked," the angel said. There was a knowningness to his voice Dante was all too familiar with. In his current predicament he squashed the urge to mock the angel poser in front of him.

"So you read minds too?" Dante retorted.

"I am not allowed to share the message with you. It is doubtful that you would even understand it." The angel paused, a quick unamused look flashing across his face. "However, I see no harm in relaying its meaning."

"Doesn't that Defeat the purpose?" Dante asked lazily.

"That is for the divine to know." Dante snickered, despite the not so cool newfound knowledge that Vergil was-once again-playing a game of shadows. "You are unbalanced," the angel observed, drawing Dante's attention, "as is your twin. You both share a link. When one of you wavers, the other pulls, righting the perceived weakness. As twins you have both operated in this manner." The angel paused for a moment, as if listening to something unheard on the wind. "The link you share has been severely strained recently." Dante raised an eyebrow at that, tilting his head to the side.

" 'Recently' would be a loose way to describe it." He must be unbalanced if he was letting Vergil walk away with out even bothering to pummel an iota of truth from him. Or rather than pummeling Vergil, he was listening to this crazy lunatic.

"Be forwarned, some things once broken, heal and become twisted in the healing. Others things become whole." Dante raised a skeptic eyebrow. Monsters, demons, angels, cults, possessed humans, possessed objects. Everything under the sun he'd dealt with. Now he was inclined to put 'awkward angel' on his list as well. "We make traps of our blood," The angel commented. His expression was difficult to determine, but Dante would have put it somewhere between misery and defiant pride. "We use our kith and kin only as harshly as we perceive to love them." the angel paused, sighing as Dante began to crack up. Dante's laughter rose, echoing eerily off the bone white trees in a mirthless roar.

" 'Love?'," Dante choked out through the laughter. "I'm done." _Angelic prophecies?_ His twin got an angelic prophecy? Tears began to form in Dante's eyes as he choked on laughter. _Love_. Turning on his heel, Dante left the clearing. Swiping at the tears, Dante took a breath, trying to calm the laughter welling out of him like bubbles from the bottom of a champagne glass. Where it was coming from, he didn't know. It really wasn't a laughing matter. His twin had an angelic prophecy, Lauren was alive, and humans were eating each other. No this wasn't funny and yet it _was_. _Only one of Sparda's sons would get a fucking angelic prophecy_. Love. Love. Love. The word haunted him.

The night was crisp, and for a time Dante followed Vergil's footsteps back towards the compound. The entire time he giggled like a child. It wasn't until he overtook his twin's steady trudging pace that Dante sobered enough to study Vergil from the corner of his eye. Vergil was stoic-but then his twin always was.

"No woman is ever going to lay you with that kind of expression," Dante said finally. Blinking Vergil actually stopped walking, and faced Dante. Contempt and revulsion etched his expression in the dark, making Dante smirk.

"Leave me," Vergil said, "and never approach me again." his voice rough from the cold. He continued his trudging pace. Dante snorted, smirking as he paced his twin. A gurgle of half drowned laughter escaped his lips. His legs burned from exertion.

"Upgrade your vocab Verg. Take the word 'fuck' for example." Vergil shot Dante a warning glare. Dante held his smirk and his peace. " 'Fuck' has a nice ring to it. You can use Fuck as a verb, adverb, or noun. In fact the word fuck can be used interchangeably."

"What do you want Dante?" Vergil growled, impatient. Impatience was probably the only real trait the two brothers shared.

"Eh, just helping you upgrade your vocabulary," Dante said easily. "Like I was saying, the word fuck is adaptable. For example, I could say, 'Where the _fuck_ is Lauren?' Or 'What in the _fuck_ are you doing?' " The words came rolling out as if he'd been asking his brother the time, in that casual banter Dante always spoke with. However, the dark undertones, the threat of an impeding sword swing or fist blow or titanic clash of auras was a palpable thing.

Dante took the heat he'd initially wanted to put into a fist aimed at Vergil's face, and shoved back. The mental link drew taut-the garbage of memories Dante had been wading through for several hours-as he threw them back at Vergil. The force and accuracy to which he was able to take up the link and send his own thoughts towards his twin after decades of disuse was incredible. It _should_ have been impossible, but it wasn't. And it was almost _unnerving_ to Dante at how _easy_ it was to access Vergil.

Years and years ago, they had used the link. When one of them spoke, the other would finish the sentence. When one was hurt, the other would come running. They had made a killing a conning their mother out of sweets when they were younger. The link should have been dead. It shattered the night Eve Sparda died. Vergil had proved that it was not gone; that it was not broken as Dante had thought. Years of blackness at the end of the tunnel, Dante had never thought it possible that the bridge could be-or would be-repaired. The familiarity of his brother, the other half of himself, was torn from Dante when he'd watched his mother die as a boy.

He had thought the link was broken. Dante was going to prove that it could be used not only as a tool, but as a weapon as well. The ease at which he was able to narrow his focus on a single moment and send it to Vergil was incredible. They had never been able to share memories when they were little, only snippets of emotions and a sense of what the other felt. This however, was a mature mind making a conscious effort. Dante picked a memory he had played over and over in his head several months after the fact. It haunted him the same way watching his brother fall into hell had haunted him. The same way defeating Mundus had haunted him. It was a vivid memory, one he relived as he thought of it, just as he knew his twin would. He could almost smell the smoke and burning flesh…

_All around the flames licked at the walls, running rampant through the massive building. New Light- the headquarters of the nation's leading new age religion-was burning to the ground. Through the flames that bathed Dante in a sheen of his own sweat, he saw them. Their images weaved and bobbed, dancing through a mirage of heat wave. On the edge of the cliff, cut off from the rest of the world, they stood highlighted against the stark white of the snow. _

_A glint of silver, a flash of lightning in the monochromatic sea of white. He watched as one warrior fell in defeat to the other. Even then, he knew what his twin would do. Had known all along what Vergil would do to that girl. Dante had known, but there was no way to get to Vergil. No way to get to her either. It was no surprise to see the body tumble off the cliff edge, twisting through the air like a bird with a broken wing. Equally unsurprising, his twin stood at the edge, staring with detached interest at the scene below. Dante gritted his jaw, throwing his anger into the next blow. He would find Vergil and-_

His twin visibly reacted to the information Dante had forced down the mental link to him. Twisting away, Vergil lashed out with the trident, abruptly cutting off the streaming memory with an iron mental curtain. Blackness again, shutting the tunnel off completely. Dante parried, finding a summoned Rebellion in his hand. He had no idea when he'd summoned the demon arm or how he had done so. It wasn't a habit of his to summon anything. Either the sword was in his hand or it wasn't. He didn't make it a habit of overextending himself by summoning weapons he should damn well have at hand.

"You're not the only one with that trick," Dante said, smirking as he held Vergil's weapon aloft. The metal of the weapons grated, screaming in protest.

"Spare me the droppings of your struggling intellect," Vergil sneered. With a trust, he expertly detangled the trident from Rebellion's edge, taking a step away from Dante. "You know only fractions of the truth."

"Say it ain't so," Dante said, his mouth a hard line. "How did it feel to kill her?" Dante's mouth felt acrid. "Hell the closest thing you've ever had to-ah _fuck_, you killed her." Ignoring Dante, Vergil continued towards the compound. "I'm fucking talking to you," Dante snarled, lunging. Vergil reacted, his fist snapping Dante's whole frame to a sudden halt. Dante stumbled back a couple of paces, dazed, feeling blood gush into his mouth. He felt then, the difference between them and was keenly aware of what his island job had cost him in prowess. Before, when their weapons met, Vergil had been holding back.

"So?" Vergil demanded, his voice steel. He drew himself up. "_Obviously she_ _survived."_

"What _freak_ of nature survives a _motherfucker_ like _you_?" Dante retorted sharply, spitting out blood. He scrubbed at his mouth with the back of his hand. The wounds in his mouth were closing, but his jaw ached dully. The hurt to his pride, that was somewhat harder to gauge. What was Vergil saying? They glared at each other. The link they had momentarily shared had been shattered the moment Vergil had reacted. Both of them had their guards up. Neither of them would be lowering said guard any time in the near future. No form of communication would exist between them unless it was of the verbal variety. No more soul sharing and secret bearing between little boys. These grown men would communicate the way their warrior ancestors communicated: with blood, sweat, and pain.

"What did you do to her?" Dante snarled quietly. At that the stare stalemate was broken. A cold twitch at the corner of his mouth and an icy sneer tinged Vergil's features. The man couldn't have possibly known how much of a devil he looked-despite his human countenance-when he did that.

"What _didn't_ I do to her?" Vergil retorted. He held a level gaze back at Dante.

Swearing Dante lost it. Forget rebellion, some things were just more satisfying if you had a hand in it yourself. … … …Or at least, that's what Dante would have normally done. But tonight was an odd night. Angels were delivering prophecies to demons, humans were eating each other, the dead rose as if living. Instead Dante just cocked his head to the side, staring at his brother in contemplation. It wasn't an expression native to Dante's face, and for a moment Vergil was at a loss as to what the hell to make of it. Vergil tensed, ready for the retaliation to whatever would result as an outcome of Dante's unexpected expression.

"That is the question though isn't it?" Dante said softly after a moment. He shouldered Rebellion. "What didn't you do Vergil?" Blinking, Vergil kept his face deadpan, despite evocation of emotions Dante's words stirred up. "How come she's gone again?" Dante breathed a sigh. Vergil glared at him, jaw clenched tight. Their breath was ice on the air.

"I owe you nothing," Vergil snapped, his voice brittle.

"No, I'd say were pretty even," Dante retorted, easy going once more. " 'We only use our kith and kin as harshly as we perceive to love them', " he murmured. The angel had been right. Whatever Vergil was caught up in, he wasn't playing ball. Not that his twin did team activities. Instead, Vergil was tense as a coiled spring. Dante pondered that briefly. A memory flickered, of seven year old Vergil hunched over the complex innards of a disassembled watch. Dante remembered how Vergil had stayed that way for hours, memorizing the innermost workings of the watch. Nothing and no one had been able to pull Vergil from his trance then….or apparently now. His gaze took in the entirety of his twin and for a moment, Dante recognized the remnants of that child. Whatever was bothering his twin, it had his full attention.

"Be careful Verg," Dante warned him. He stepped past Vergil, heading back towards the compound, Dante held his eye. Dante shrugged. "You have more enemies than allies."

"Is that concern I hear?" Vergil growled, clearly annoyed.

"Solid advice bro," Dante felt a ghost of a smirk on his mouth. It wasn't a smile of laughter or mirth however. "Hard to watch your back when knife is in it, but then, you'd know all about that wouldn't you?" Dante didn't bother turning to his twin. "You coming or not?" At the moment, Dante didn't care to puzzle out the mess Vergil was in. His thoughts were on Trish. He wanted to touch her and be next to her. Surprisingly, Dante realized he was tired. It was with these thoughts that he returned to the compound, leaving Vergil to either follow or pout in the snow like a brat.

Vergil stood shin deep in the snow, glaring at his twin. He glanced once towards the woods they had emerged from. The white boney, grasping branches reached towards the sky, clawing for the moon with skeletal grasping fingers. There was no hint of the mysticism that had occurred mere minutes before. The air was damp as a distant snowstorm swept its way towards them. The hard feel of a metal lump thumped against his thigh with every step he took, as if to burn its presence into his skin. With a growl, Vergil followed Dante, willing himself not to murder his twin in the process.


	75. Vergil

**Vergil**

Darkness enclosed him. He could hear the midnight sounds of the complex as individuals turned in their sleep or fitfully awoke. Darkness was a familiar frienemy; both an ally and at times, a deadly foe. Tonight however, the darkness was a quieting companion. Glass shards broke underfoot, crackling quietly as Vergil circumnavigated the room. It was the only room that held the last of Lauren's fading scent. Vergil picked his way silently through the destroyed room. Outside of the broken heavy doors, two soldiers stood watch, unaware of his presence.

The room had been left alone, pending some kind of human investigation, and it was in perfect condition. Crouching Vergil breathed deeply, taking in all the smells and scents the room had to offer. Closing his eyes he shifted though the scents, identifying their perspective owners. Lauren's was most obvious, the man-Leon's, likewise was obvious. His own, both present and past littered the floor. The dhampire woman's scent was also present, and there was more. The scent of the corpse wafted in the air, vampire by the way the blood smelled. But it was tainted with an ailment of some kind. Ignoring the various disgusting smells the left over infected human corpses were oozing from every pore, Vergil zeroed in on Lauren's scent. Rising, he traced her footsteps. Following her phantom as she moved from the door to a now broken computer desk. He stalked her memory as she traveled from desk to desk.

He trailed her across the room after she finished with the computers. What exactly had she been searching for? He came to a halt. A black void greeted him. Lauren had hesitated before entering the dark room before him. Quelled anxiety, he could smell her anxiety as she had regarded the room. With a hand he pushed the heavy door open. A bare room greeted him behind a wall of blackness as his demonic genetics kicked in, his eyes adjusting to the void. There was a restraining chair and overturned trays. A generator in the corner of the room sat silent and alone. The smell of human blood was strong. Vergil stepped into the room, just as Lauren had.

She had moved slowly, her scent gathering in her chimeric footsteps. Anger now, a sharp layer of pheromones spiked her scent. A lot of anger. Whatever had been in the chair, whatever the humans had been doing had made little Lauren boil over with fury. _Interesting_. Vergil continued to follow her scent through the room as she had vented her anger. The heavy smells of humans, wounded, coated the ground. Then the chair.

He hesitated, unsure of what to make of the chair. In and of itself it was nothing more than what it was: a chair. However, Lauren's scen had acted like a guide map. A beacon if one knew what to look for. Through her map, he could speculate what had transpired. However, this chair was a blank slate. There was nothing upon it. He could smell the mold in the cushions of the chair, smell the human specs of blood that had sprayed the chair, but there was no indication of whom had sat in the chair itself. No scent. None at all. That blankness, that something else he had smelled from the doorway.

Vergil turned, breathing deeply. The familiar scent of anxiety again, and dread. Lauren had been _scared_. Vergil considered the facts. Foreboding at the doorway, anger and human blood, then dread. Lauren, _afraid_? Vergil shifted his attention back to the chair. It wasn't that there was a scent, it was that there was an absence of a scent. Absolutely nothing. Any scents that came in contact with the chair seemed as if cut off completely. Who had sat in that chair? And what had that person done with Lauren?

Turning on his hell, Vergil left Delta Two, left the human realm. Lauren was a fighter, he had little to doubt in the way of her survival. The cross way between the two worlds rose out of the darkness to greet him. Vergil's hand strayed to his pocket, feeling the hard metal and stone of the trinket that was stored there. He sloshed through shin high water, the fallen ruins of ancient columns greeted him. They were silent testaments to the selfishness and arrogance of humans. Only humans-only the Romans-would erect such an edifice at the very gateway to hell itself. How dare humanity encroach upon something it should fear and respect?

Angry now, Vergil let the human mask fall away, welcoming the burn of the change in his skin. The tearing of flesh as spikes push through hardening, leather-like skin. Darkness licked away at the pigment of his human skin and hair. It took only moments before the new Lord of the Underworld stood in all his glory at the gateway to hell. In his hand the silver trinket gleamed, its chain wrapped about his wrist like a death sentence. Glaring at the small object, Vergil continued into hell. The trinket gleam innocently in the darkness, ethereal in its own right; he never released it from his clenched fist. It was a bad omen and he disliked what portents it may have to offer.

"Mi'lord," Crod bowed awaiting him. The demon's good eye was trained on the floor, not daring to take in Vergil's mildly annoyed expression. The crocodile remained kneeling as he approached him. The demon's bad eye was covered now with an eye patch, the lines of the scars there mimicking that of a crater impact. Vergil paused, studying Crod's wounds. Crod did not move, nor even breath. Vergil didn't doubt the demon still held lingering anger over the wounds he had dealt him. Just as Lauren had continually rebuked him for his lack of humanity. Even though he had done nothing to harm her family, nor been an instrument of their undoing. Lauren's hatred for him ran deeper than he had previously give thought to. She hadn't lied when she said she'd thrown away her part of the Amerhurst.

"Gather the War Lords," Vergil said gruffly. "The disease is spread thick in the human world."

"As you willed it," Crod commented. "Already many have fallen to your cunning."

"The humans crawl with a sickness that can consume us. Humanity will not be our downfall," Vergil growled, irked. "I will not have our kind the victims of some weaker than us. We will withdraw from the human world and sever any contact."

"Yes Mi'lord," Crod rose, "I will gather the War Lords at once." Crod paused. "They will be unpleased, Lord Nero."

"And?" Vegil demanded growling.

"It will be as you wish, my lord," Crod left in a wake of miasma. Ignoring the miasma, Vergil continued through the twisting pathways of hell. Carnage and carnal sins abound, the destroyed remnants of the human world, reflected in hell's mirror, rose up to great the red, dizzying sky. The landscape of hell constantly changed, nothing could be permanent save for the misery and suffering. The great, curved spirals of his seat of power rose up to puncture the sky. A bell toll sounded, the deep reverberations of it echoing throughout the world. Vergil sent a tendril of energy out, twisting the world about him to suit his needs. He stepped onto the steps leading to his throne, now within the walls of his castle.

The throne was ebony and looked every bit as gothic and horrible as hell itself. Blood spatter coated the bottom of the throne were so many had lost their lives by beheading, both human and demon. The cruel spikes of the chair were laden with skulls, both fresh and old. Carrion birds perched overhead in the huge, cracked dome ceiling, waiting for opportunities to pick at the flesh of the newer heads. Still brooding, Vergil flung himself into the chair, summoning the heavy broadsword all denizens of hell recognized and knew to fear. Yamoto gleamed, hungry from disuse. Vergil leaned back, the broad sword resting between his legs, his hand secure around the sword's grip.

The generals would fight him, tooth claw and nail. The War Lords had been offered the human realm. There were already many diseased and useless weaklings, demons unfit to be anything other than tools, dispersed through out the human realm. They were serving their purpose, spreading the disease among the humans. However, that absence of smell from before, the lack of a scent. Vergil pictured the chair for a moment. The gem in his hand gleamed as it rested at the very edge of the throne's arm rest. The shine of it reminded him of the angel's warning. He was acutely aware of his responsibilities.

This would be a war he did not start. With a sigh Vergil tilted his head back, enjoying the quiet blackness of the empty throne room, letting the tense irritation drain from his body. Better to be liquid quick and coldly vapid when his generals came. If any understood the true gravity of what the gem represented, if any could even begin to understand the sheer blankness he'd experienced in the human compound… … … … … …

"You've returned," Nevan's voice crooned in the darkness. Vergil glanced towards the sound of her voice. The shadows slowly parted way, revealing moonlight pale shoulders and arms as she stepped forward. The shadows clung to her, draped over her, to reveal a full figure, a heavy bust, and long legs. Fire red hair gleamed, as yellow eyes regarded him. "You smell like humans," she commented as she approached the throne. He raised an eyebrow waiting. Nevan leaned over, her arms circling his shoulders until her tapered fingers wove together. She whispered in his ear, her lips brushing his ear lobe, "Do you favor that human girl? Your scent reeks of her." A casual hand went to Nevan's back. This cunt would never learn. Nevan purred in his ear, laughing. Her breasts pressed against his shoulder, her nipples erect. This was one of her more obvious attempts at seduction, however he was already irritated.

"What do you know of nothingness?" He demanded, coolly.

" 'Nothingness?' " Nevan drew back, removing her hands. She stepped backwards, putting space between herself and Vergil. His hand fell away as she continued to back peddle.

"You can smell it, yes? You were there were you not?" Vergil demanded, rising from his throne. "When the angels were cast from the sky and our kind rose up to embrace them." Vergil turned to face her. "You're old enough to remember."

"You don't know what you talk of," Nevan backpeddled, her face contorting to a mask of blank concern and confusion.

"Don't I?" he replied. "A son of Sparda?" He stepped forward, making her step back. His eyes burned red. "How could I not? My father, who imprisoned the worse heaven had to offer? After such a warm welcome to my father's homeland, how could I not?" Nevan backed into a thorned column. She did not attempt to flee. She should have. The confusion fell away into understanding, the concern was replaced with its deep cousin, alarm.

"This is folly," she spat back, not daring to meet his gaze.

"Ask me," he growled, his hand went to her chin forcing her to look him in the eye, "If I care. Tell me what you know." Her violet eyes strayed to the gem entangled with the fingers of his free hands. Her eyes met his, they were steely and reminded him nothing of the tramp she had been moments before.

"He was nothingness," she whispered. "From nothingness He created everything. He used everything, like a plaque he possessed everything. He was everything. His cruelty exceeded that of even the darkest night of hell." Nevan pushed away from the column, away from Vergil. She turned her back to him, recounting what she knew. "When it was known of his trespasses, it was decided that He would return from whence He came, just as the rest of us. It was decided that even a god should be able to bleed, that even a god," Neven paused. Her face turned towards the red sky. "Your father, Great Lord Sparda, was touched by His insanity. Sparda, the best of us all, was our sacrifice. Sparda awoke with light in his eyes and retired from the demon world. We could have created a world worth living in. Yet Sparda decided, for all of demon kind. His selfishness was only equal to the nothingness."

"I did not ask about my father." Vergil was unimpressed. "I asked about the nothingness you can smell, clinging to me like a burr." At that Nevan turned to face him, her expression outraged.

"It has no name! He has no name! He is Nothingness! Your father was caught up in that cursed family. He was touched by His Nothingness! Your father was diseased. Are you a fool not to know your own heritage?" Vergil raised an eyebrow.

"Control yourself," his voice was a deathly whisper. Something was different about Nevan. Vergil paused studying her. Then it struck him, like a hammer blow to the shins. _Fear_. Nevan was afraid. A demoness who had faced her own extinction for time out of mind was afraid. "You can smell it can't you?" Vergil demanded suddenly, an idea forming. Nevan took a step backwards, taking a breath as her hackles rose. He let a smile curl his mouth as he advanced upon his new prey. "What else do you know Nevan?"

"God is dead," Nevan whispered violently. "This world is forsaken. Demons exist because we were there, we witnessed the end to the Nothingness. We are the only truly free creatures in all of creation," Nevan continued. "We and we alone know, without a doubt, the certainty of our fate. This world-this creation-and all the life it contains, is already damned." Nevan's face chilled into a mask of cold hatred. "It was Sparda that allowed the humans to continue to dream. It was Sparda who allowed the humans to continue to worship It. Sparda's reward for such obedience to God was the curse of rebirth. Everything dies, everything is forsaken, but only Sparda and his line are damned to rebirth. Your family is damned to wander this whim of God for eternity. Your family is cursed," Nevan spat, backing away from him. "Any who get caught up in It-in the Nothingness-are."

"Answer me Nevan." He was calm, collected. The way he always was before he ended another's life. Diseased. How many times had he been called that? How many times had he been labeled as tainted? Far too many to recollect. And now at the root of it all, he was to rediscover that it wasn't himself, but his father who had been the tainted one. "What would it take to kill a God?" Nevan' eyes alighted on him and she held her breath. His voice was playful and musing. Her eyes widened as she stared at him, her breath catching in her throat. He smirked. She would give him everything he wanted to know. Of that, Vergil was certain.


	76. Usurp

**Hunnigan**

"Ma'am, private communication for you," The soldier leaned in on the doorway of the base's new HQ. Sanitization efforts were running around the clock at the base. Immunizations were being handed out to service members through the medical bay. Those infectees-voluntary human test trials to the immunization-were under lock down status until the current situation was under further control. It had been 36 hours since the initial outbreak at the compound. There had yet to be any resurgence of the infection. Sighing, Hunnigan rose from her chair, readjusting her drooping wardrobe.

"Which room?"

"Conference room E, ma'am," The soldier replied before ducking out. Hunnigan straitened her outfit as she went. Rebuttoning and tucking in her blouse, she took care to adjust the wilting cuff on the end of her sleeves as well. Conference room E was empty save for Mike, who looked uncomfortable to be there. On the monitor, General Karkarov glared at Mike. His dark look quickly shifted to Hunnigan as she entered the room.

"Hunnigan, sit," the General was brusque and to the point. "You are here by stripped of command of Delta Two." Hunnigan sat carefully onto an available office chair as she listened to the General rant. "As of 0600 tomorrow I will be assuming control of all operations of Delta Two. You are to remain and oversee this 'Otherkin' project as per the president's order."

" 'Project'?" Hunnigan asked. "I wasn't aware that the otherkin _were_ a project."

"Mike," The general barked. At that Mike shifted, turning to face Hunnigan with the same expression a kid might wear if caught going into the cookie jar without permission.

"Mike?" Hunnigan asked softly. This might be bad, worse even than the General assuming control of Delta Two.

"The general has been following our-my-ETAP project. Particularly the data for potential energy output Otherkin demonstrate," Mike sagged a little as he spoke. "The general is interested in-"

"Mike has clearly shown me the threat Otherkin have the potential to be," the General interrupted Mike sharply. "You've been reassigned to the Otherkin Project. You're to continue your observation and documentation of Otherkin, particularly their strengths and weaknesses. Further more you're to be our liaison for any dealings with Otherkin in the foreseeable future." Hunnigan blinked, staring at the general a bit in shock.

" 'Document otherkin weaknesses'?" she demanded after a moment. " 'Act as a liaison?' " She rose to her feet. "General you're asking me to be a spy. Otherkin are not tribes people, they are individuals. No two are alike, not even the twins. They are people just like you or me, treating them like a threat will only-"

"Can you do this to nearly half the armed forces of a military compound?" The general snarled. Images of Vergil's attack on the compound military members flashed on the screen.

"Sir, I have reason to believe the response was provoked," Hunnigan began.

"Enough," Karkarov snapped. "I've read the reports. What exactly was that freak doing to the bio weapon?"

"He sanitized the bio weapon sir," Hunnigan retorted curtly. "Him and Lauren."

"Who was recovered at the scene of a viral outbreak," Karkarov snapped back. "As was this Dante. Both of the other two recorded females were either hostile in nature or likewise recovered at ground zero of the viral outbreaks."

"Are you insinuating that the otherkin are in some way related to biological warfare?" Hunnigan asked quietly.

"I know a threat when I see one," Karkarov replied flatly. "You've been given your orders. Mike is to assist you in any way necessary. Both of you are to report directly to me should there be any further findings. Do I make myself clear?" Hunnigan took a deep breath.

"Yessir."

"Good," The general glared at Hunnigan. "And on a personal note, might I add that you've done a great job creating a clusterfuck of an operation. Recently elected Vice President Machin was particularly impressed with the number of personnel your otherkin project has otherwise maimed, disfigured, and murdered."

"It wasn't-" Hunnigan began, however the effort was made in vain. The screen went black. Hunnigan remained standing for a second absorbing what had just transpired. After a minute and a half, she checked her watch. It was midnight. General Karkarov would assume control of Delta Two in little over seven hours.

"Mike," she said, her voice soft, but more like a gunshot in the quiet room. Mike shifted uneasily in his chair, not meeting her gaze when she turned to him. "What did you tell him Mike?"

"The same thing I told you," Mike said. Hunnigan put both fisted hands on her hips.

"Oh?"

"I told him about the electro-thermal apparition phenomenon. I explained how they had fundamentally biologically different body structures than us." Mike's eyes rose to meet her. "I gave him the footage of the fight between the two women."

"Goddammit Mike," Hunnigan said softly. "What did you tell him?"

"I told him the truth!" Mike exploded. "I told him we're sitting on a bunch of insanely strong, mutated freaks! They could rip our heads off and skull fuck us in our sleep and not even a computer guided nuke would stop'em." The man rose heavily from his chair. "Have you even thought about what they could do to you? You keep treating them like they're normal and they're _not_!"

"_So_?" Hunnigan shouted back, loosing her cool. "Have you forgotten what they've done _for_ us? They've co-operated when asked properly, they've willingly gone into hot zones and collected valuable, important-"

"Oh believe me sister, I haven't forgotten," Mike spat out, interrupting her. "Who could forget what they've done? Anyone that stands in their way might as well be dead. That guy blew up a fucking tank with his hands." Mike jabbed a finger at the now dead monitor, attempting to evoke the images of Vergil's attack on the compound. "And that chic nearly murdered-_murdered_-one of our best-"

"I will not listen to this," Hunnigan said, her voice calm and cool. "Yes there have been mistakes along the way. They came from misjudging and misapplying our strength. _Our_ strength." Hunnigan sighed and sat down again, cradling her forehead in her hands. "God help us if Karkarov has the kind of plans I think he does."

"Plans?" Mike demanded. "He _plans_ on studying them."

"He plans on _eliminating_ them," Hunnigan shouted, slamming her hands down on the conference table before her. "Can you even begin to imagine the bloodbath that would ensue if he even attempted to eliminate them? Can you?" Hunnigan pounded the table again. "Tell me he wouldn't use your project to rank the Otherkin. Tell me he wouldn't use the strongest as weapons against other countries after he'd broken them. They're strong but they're people Mike. They have loved ones, _family_. Karkarov is a wartime general," Hunnigan shouted. "He's going to make a delicate situation a storm of hurt. And you," Hunnigan swallowed, her voice dropping, "you handed him _everything_ he needed to do whatever it is he wants." Hunnigan rose. "You _idiot_ Mike. When did _any_ of them harm you?" Mike looked to her, miserable yet defiant.

"You can't say that they wouldn't hurt you or me," he said flatly. "You can't say they aren't a threat."

"No I can't," Hunnigan agreed, "but after Karkarov gets through with them, I wouldn't blame them." Turning, she stalked out the room, leaving Mike miserable and alone in the conference room. She only had five and a half hours to lay down some groundwork before Karkarov took over.

**Dante**

He rolled to his side, his sleep fitful. While he closed his eyes, he saw the past stretched out before him. While his eyes were open he saw Trish, his sexy, curvy Trish. Right now, however, Dante was having a hard time telling the difference between when his eyes were closed and when they were open. The whiplash, he knew was what keep the gears of his mind turning long after they should have gone dormant.

_He was in darkness, the earth beneath him foul and polluted. It smelled of carnal leavings, long past their prime and foul now in their existence. His body was wracked with pain, every part of it abused and used. It hurt to breath; it hurt just to exist. They had done this to him and it had felt like an eternity until his acute healing had begun to fail him. When even that small mercy had been stripped from him, it had been so much worse. And yet, They wouldn't let him die. They needed him alive to suffer in place of his father. The foul things they'd done, the pain they'd promised, making him a puppet with nothing but his own company to keep in the back of his mind, forever screaming and cursing silently at them. Gods even now, he could hear their footsteps coming. The thought of them upon him, of the things they would do to him and to his once powerful body. He swore then, by any means necessary, he would make them suffer. He had nothing to lose, they could harm his body, but they wouldn't kill him. __**He**__ didn't want the sons of Sparda to die so easily. He swore his victory would be over death and life itself. This he swore to himself, even as they came for him with his body still racked with pain. This memory-this living nightmare-was not his. _

Groaning, Dante rolled, curling around Trish as his eyes snapped open to darkness. He was slick with sweat. The scratches Trish had left on his back stung as sweat found it. He pressed a warm forehead into Trish's shoulder. She stirred as he tightened his grip around her waist.

"Dante?" Trish murmured, waking sluggishly. He was an inferno, nearly scaling to the touch. Dante didn't respond, although he continued to hold her. With a contented sigh, Trish leaned back into Dante's embrace, drifting off to sleep.

Dante was not asleep. He breathed in the scent of Trish, felt the solidity of her existence. The phantasm pains and aches faded into the recesses of his mind. Dante knew pain, had been born a brawler, but to dream of pain was a new concept he couldn't fathom. Pain was not something to be desired, but endured and overcome. He didn't languish in pain, didn't dwell in it. That nightmare, that memory, hadn't been his. He'd never known pain like that. As he listened to Trish's breathing, to her heartbeat, Dante relaxed. The sweat of the night cooled against his skin as he let the sounds of Trish overtake his senses. The nightmare was chased away and sleep found him once more. This time Dante dreamed of Trish. He saw her smile and that mischievous twinkle in her eyes. Golden sunlight shone through the amber color of cola as it sweat in the afternoon sun during a long round of pool. For the rest of the night, Dante slept well.


	77. General Karkarov

**Next Day**

**Sarah and Grant**

"What's going on?" Sarah whispered to Grant. The two of them had been inseparable since their joint incarceration in the vaccination ward and their consequent incarceration within the cafeteria. For two days they had stayed within the cafeteria among the other shell shocked survivors of the vaccination ward. There had been counseling and therapists, but those things didn't really help Sarah sleep at night. She hadn't slept more than half an hour since the man in the room across from hers had been eaten. Now they had been herded, every last soul, into a large hanger of sorts. There, a large pavilion stood bare, a number of armed soldiers formed a perimeter around the stage. Civilians, people Sarah knew for a fact had not been in the vaccination ward, began piling into the room. It looked as if the whole compound had come to The Gathering, as she was starting to think of it.

"Nothing good," Grant replied lowly. Sarah helped the old man to a nearby folding chair. Many of them were quickly filling in. On the stage, several individuals were taking their places as well. Among them, Sarah recognized Leon.

"I know him," Sarah nudged Grant. She nodded to Leon. He was standing in a line along with several people Sarah didn't know. The lot of them stood in the line. There was a frumpy but professional woman, some scruffy, nerdy guy, and a military man who had a lot of color on his uniform. One the other side of Leon a dark skinned woman and a pale blonde stood.

"Which one?" Grant's voice was a rough whisper in the din of the room.

"The younger guy, the skinny, brown haired one," Sarah replied quickly. "His name is Leon. I met just before I came here."

"When you got that?" Grant thrust a chin in the direction of Sarah's knee. The black ink that had traveled in her veins hadn't grown, but neither was it yet to go away. The cut was healed, but for all intents and purposes, Sarah may have well had a tattoo on her knee from the infection.

"Yeah," Sarah whispered, covering up her knee with a quick yank of socks. The cheerful red of her rainbow stocking slid up just past her knee. It was enough of a covering. Sarah considered herself lucky. Other people had come in with scratches on their arms, their hands, their necks. The black inking on those body parts were so much more difficult to cover up. One woman even had a small cut on her cheek. Sarah winced. She had been the same woman eating the man across the hall.

"You okay?" Grant asked. "You're pale."

"Its cold in here," Sarah sniffed. Her nose was running. It really was cold in the large room. Sighing, Sarah could make out the faint outline of her breath.

"That it is," Grant agreed.

"Ladies and Gentlemen," The frumpy woman's voice boomed over loud speakers. The room fell silent. Sarah looked to see her standing at the podium. "If I could have your attention please, I would like to introduce General Karkarov."


	78. Winter Inteirm

**Hunnigan**

**3 months later**

Winter weighed heavily on the world, starving those who had survived the unimaginable. A quieting blanket, the Jack Frost cold nipped at her fingers as she typed frantically at her terminal. Even here in a military base, with her position, she was only afforded such a minimal allotment of electricity. The government rationings allowed her two more hours of electricity than most and she coveted them. Frantically Hunnigan documented what she could, as she had begun doing nearly 6 months ago, at the discovery of Otherkin.

Since Karkarov had assumed control of Delta Two, it seemed as if the world had ended. Ironic that she should be stationed at a military base dubbed 'the end of the world' as such an event may as well have occurred. Hunngian had watched, as the world fell into chaos. As communications were cut between continents first, then between countries. Finally state and even local communications were beginning to fall silent as the harsh, bitter winter dragged on.

It had been unexpected, as all tragedies were.

The disease-the T virus-had ravaged uninhabitated places unchecked, then struck in large cities. Nearly all the vaccination warehouses state side had been ransacked or looted. Riots in the streets and then sheer panic as the riots fled from disease ridden corpses, reanimated though abnormal, uncontrolled cellular growth. The world was a wasteland of flames, chaos, looting, pillaging, violence.

She watched as first world nations crumbled, brought to their knees by governmental systems unable to cope with such heavy demands from its populace. The light of humanity was dimming and in the darkness only death and hunger waited. Still, the base was fortified and swarming with refugees and the undead alike. The perimeter fence had been reinforced in the early days of winter, rebuilt after the bio weapon had rampaged. The extra walls were a boon now, keeping a wide open clearing available for frost bitten troops and refuges camping out in ill built shacks. In the spring, the space would make good for much needed crops.

Before Karkarov had ordered the doors to Delta Two closed for fear of infectees, Hunnigan had watched as people fled for their lives across the golden gate bridge. She had seen on tv, how the French defended the _musee de louvre_ from the hordes of the undead, retreating and maintaining their national treasure even as the rolling black outs began. Hunnigan had watched how the nations upon nations of peoples responded to this global crisis in their own ways. The people's uprising in China had left a holocaust trail of bodies for the T virus to ravage.

Hunnigan's fingers flew over the keyboard. She had only 20 minutes left to finish her documentation. Karkarov had ordered the continuation of the 'otherkin project' which included testing the pain tolerance, physical endurance, reflexes, and other such physiological anomalies. Such tests were quickly shut down, not by human rights protesters, but by the otherkin themselves. Karkarov quickly came to understand Hunnigan's early warnings. Vergil-upon the abrupt and not so polite insistence of Karkarov that he participate a physical pain tolerance test-had proceed to destroy all the tools intended for the experiment. With one cut of his sword. Nearly 10 military personnel, armed with near toxic Amplyfy subduing bullets, were sacrificed to put Vergil into a coma-induced sleep. Vergil still remained in that state, locked down in the deepet levels of Delta Two.

Afterwards, Karkarov declared anything otherkin associated to be a security risk. When it was discovered that agent Chris Redfield had been healed through otherkin assistance, he was included in the otherkin research project. Like wise when the relationship between Rayne and agent Leon Kennedy came to light, despite Hunnigan's attempts to keep it in the dark, Kennedy was sectioned off and quarantined in the otherkin research wing of Delta two. It wasn't long before Jill Valentine and Sheva Alomar were quarantined as well.

Word quickly spread in tiny base. Already the otherkin were subject to rumors, both fanciful and true. Many people blamed them for the T virus outbreak and shunned those involved with them. Already Hunnigan was used to the cold stares and bitter, muttered derogative slang that echoed just within ear shot.

The timer on her watched beeped, warning her that her electricity allotment was nearly out. Only ten mintues left. Taking a deep breath, Hunnigan saved her notes, hiding the file in her portable USB drive and deleting any additional remaining saved history from the terminal. This documentation, she knew, would be invaluable some day, some where. She took a breath.

Lauren was still missing. As was Raziel. No efforts had been made to recover either of them. Hunnigan rose, logging off the computer. She had reviewed what little of Raziel's research she could scrape by. The 'cure' RAziel had concocted had been administered and now none remained. Even the additional back up vaccinations had been given up to the general public. How effective the cure remained to be seen, as no one would voluntarily test it.

The absence of the two people disturbed her. It was almost as if neither Razeil nor Lauren had ever existed. To make matters worse, the child caught on security footage the night of the internal bio outbreak was missing as well. What ever his connection to Raziel and Lauren, Hunnigan could only suspect that it was sinister in nature. Right on time, the power in the computer lab shut down, leaving Hunngan fumbling in the dark for her pocket flashlight.

Hunnigan felt her way in the darkness. It was half by memory and half by luck that she found the door to the lab without stumbling over some unseen obstacle. She knew, without knowing how, that the worse was yet to come.


	79. House Arrest

Update. Enjoy!**  
**

**Lor**

Sweet like cotton candy and numb as Novocain. He fills me with light and banishes the darkness of pain, of guilt, of all those aches and cuts of self-loathing. Pesky knives of consciousness loose themselves in Him. _I can take your hurt_, He says. His arms are about me; child sticks squeezing hard at my waist. _You can love me. I can see you, _He whispers in a bedroom voice, his warm breath on my ear. His now mature body presses against mine. I can feel him. _All_ of him pressed against me._ I can be your lover. I can be anything you need me to be. _

Flittering through my mind like moths, trying to connect threads but never seeing the forest for its trees. Beautiful things I see painted over with His grace. I can't help but wonder, was always such perfection in this world? A twinge, a small ugly threaded hook catches, 'no, the world is hurt and pain and ugly.' The disease of this thought is quickly sifted away, hidden between layers of calming words and caresses. The world is a white sheet of purity free for me to stain with my humanity. I can feel the heat of him, numbing me to the core, stilling my heartbeat. Silence roars in my ears, why does if feel like I've lost something? I want to scream, but his eyes are so beautiful, so breath taking. I can do nothing but obey. I _want_ to obey, don't I?

_I can give you everything_, he grunts, panting from his labor. _I've chosen you. You were always mine._ I wonder at that but then the Novocain hits and I'm off again, lost in His voice and His perfect body. Gods, I adore him. I worship him. I need him like a drug. I'm so hooked, I swear I could go into withdraw. Surprising, as I swore to never love again. Love? Again? There was life before Him? For a brief moment I see a face that isn't his and eyes as blue as the sky is fair. For a heartbeat, my soul screams in agony.

_Come back to me_, he whispers. His voice dissolves the memory like smoke in the wind. I'm left grasping at his perfection. _Love only me. Serve only me, and I will make you a Queen among Queens. _

**Hunngian**

"We're preparing for ETAP procedure #32A," Mike said dully, "Effects of E-TAP on regenerative internal healing processes." Surprise jolted her into awareness. She looked to him, trying to erase the disgust from her features. Mike wore his lab coat, his beard was even more scruffy and his clothes more unkempt. Karkarov had Mike working on his ETAP project nearly round clock these days.

"As you say," she acknowledged, going back to her paper work. He waited, awkwardly in her office doorway. She made no effort to converse with him.

"Hunnigan, please," Mike sighed, his voice strained. "Just talk to me."

"I believe we covered this last week," she said mildly. "And the week before that, as well as the week before that. You've done more than enough talking for the two of us." She glanced up over the rims of her glasses. "I believe Karkarov will want to be the first one to know of the procedure's results. Please give me any uncensored data-or otherwise-to file away when you've completed today's rounds of experiments." Mike sagged where he stood.

"They don't feel a thing! They're sedated!" Mike exclaimed suddenly, a fire in his eyes. She looked to him sharply, silencing him with nothing more than a look.

"Perhaps you should wake them up and ask them their opinion about it," she said softly. Mike sighed, clenching his jaw as he did so. His hands went deep into the pockets of his lab coat. Slowly he left, lumbering his way to the basement quarters.

**Sarah**

She waited until the big man in the lab coat shuffled away before approaching the office door. She knocked lightly.

"You're late," Hunnigan said without looking up.

"You had company," Sarah retorted, stepping in and closing the door behind her. Like every office, Hunnigan's work room was a zero window affair. Only the door was graced with a small glass viewer. Hunnigan had long since tacked up a dark rag over the window.

"Was that him?" Sarah flung herself into the chair before Hunnigan.

"Yes. Mike heads up the research-"

"Illegal experimentation," Sarah muttered.

"_Research_," Hunnigan repeated archly, "involving your friends."

"Calling it research doesn't make it any more or less right," Sarah said. Reaching down, she rolled up her pants leg, revealing the healed over cut on her knee. Adjusting her glasses, Hunnigan rose and moved around her desk.

"Of all the human survivors, only a few have demonstrated continued discolored skin cells." Hunnigan knelt down, studying Sarah's knee. "Even fewer have such extreme discoloration such as you."

"I know," Sarah grumbled. Ignoring her Hunnigan reached for the ruler on her desk. She took her customary measurements. Following the curvature of inky black that traveled down her shin and calf. All in all it took Hunnigan 20 minutes to get a precise measurement of all the black colored veins traveling up and down Sarah's leg.

"There's been no growth in the discoloration." Hunnigan said finally, rising to her feet. She made notes on a waiting clipboard. Saying nothing, Sarah rolled down her pants leg. "You're scheduled for another follow up appointment-"

"Next week," Sarah finished for Hunnigan. "They told me." With a nod, Hunnigan took a seat once again at her desk. The sound of her pencil moving across the clipboard was deafening in the silent room. After a moment the pencil ceased moving as Hunnigan studied Sarah over the rim of her glasses.

"Um," Sarah cleared her throat and leaned forward. "Do you know, um, where they're keeping them?" Hunnigan raised an eyebrow, silent. "Um, the otherkin," Sarah said lowly, not meeting Hunnigan's gaze, "not the old ones. The new ones that came." Sarah paused, scratching the space behind her ear nervously. "The ones that came after the outbreak here. Two months ago." Hunnigan set the pencil down, delicately and deliberately, fingertips squeezing her pencil.

"Why do you believe I would know anything?" Hunnigan leaned back in her chair.

"They said," she paused, scratching at the inch long hair at the back of her scalp now. "People were talking," Sarah said, struggling to find the right words. "Your name came up."

"My name?" Hunnigan asked coolly. Sarah blushed.

"Not your name," She muttered. "What they call you, behind your back."

"To my face more like," Hunnigan retorted sourly. She crossed her arms. "Why would I know anything?"

"But they call you," Sarah burst out now, meeting Hunnigan's gaze.

"They call me a lot of things," Hunnigan cut Sarah off with disgust.

"Do you know where they are?" Sarah asked again, leaning forward this time. She gripped the edge of Hunnigan's desk.

"They have been segregated in isolation and locked down," Hunnigan made to shrug. "You know that."

"Not them," Sarah hissed insistently, her eyes slitted. "I don't care about your boyfriend. What about the new ones? The ones you guys freakin' shot down at the gates?" Coolly Hunnigan regarded the now animated Sarah.

"It was difficult to keep you out of the coffins," Hunnigan began slowly, in a low voice. Coffins, the base slang for the isolated confinement the otherkin and any of their associates were place in for 'general populace protection'. "They would have put you in the coffins with too if-"

"I almost wish they had," Sarah snapped. She flipped the blue pass onto Hunnigan's table. Karkarrov had been though when restructuring Delta Two in wake of the global pandemic. All civilians and military officials were required to carry pass badges with them. The security clearance of each badge was clearly indicated by the badge color. "The last time some one did this, they called it a holocaust," Sarah hissed. "I _have_ been to school you know." Sarah flung herself back into her chair. "I _wish_ to god they had thrown me in the coffins. Anything to keep from sitting around on my ass while Dictator Thumbs-up-his-ass does nothing and the world just-"

A sharp crack cut Sarah off as her line of vision spun sideways. Her cheek hurt. Blinking back tears of surprise Sarah saw Hunnigan standing, leaning over her desk, her open hand still raised.

"Control yourself," Hunnigan said coldly. "While I can admire your discontent with our current leader you must keep your thoughts and opinions to yourself." Sarah stifled an angry sob as tears of frustration continued to spring to her eyes. Her hair, now down to her ears, fell forward as she bowed her head. Ignoring her Hunnigan sank back into her chair. "As two of the few allowed to come into contact with both the Otherkin and the general human populace here, it is our _responsibility_ to remember what species we originate from." Hunnigan picked up a pencil and began to scrawl on a piece of paper.

"Species?" Sarah asked, her voice cracked. She raised her chin, a defiant glare in her eyes. "He was, he is, my," Sarah struggled to find the words.

"I know your past Sarah. I have reviewed your testimony in your file. You must remember, that despite their appearances-and lack thereof I should add-_they are not human_. They can mimic human emotions, but they simply do not share the same genetics as us. They are dangerous. You are endangering yourself when you are with them."

"That's stupid," Sarah burst out, looking more frightened and confused now, "What are you saying?"

"Time heals all wounds," Hunnigan interrupted coolly. "I'm sure you will come to thank me for my counsel once you've given the matter of your species some thought." Hunnigan tore the paper from the legal pad, folding it deliberately and carefully, in plane sight on the top of her desk. "Either we concentrate on the epidemic sweeping our nation and our world, or we concentrate our efforts on understanding the Otherkin phenomenon that has just so recently and coincidently arisen at the same time. We lack the resources and time to do both. We can not fight two battles at once."

"They didn't come to fight," Sarah gasped, tears streaming down her face freely now. "It was a delegation party. They were scouts sent to gather information and maybe even help."

"I won't hear any more of your stories," Hunnigan hushed her, leveling a gaze at her. "Please reflect upon this scripture. You'll find the book in the compound's library should you need assistance. I will set up an appointment time for you to enjoy this particular reading."

"I don't want-" Sarah started, her voice rising.

"Let's set it for 10 am tomorrow," Hunnigan cut her off with a steely look. "Of course you may bring any friends with you as you would like. However, I must urge you to _please read this scripture and reflect on it_." Sarah sniffled as Hunnigan forced the folded paper into her hand. Gathering up the blue badge, she guided Sarah to the door of her office. "Once you've read the passage, I would be delighted to know your thoughts regarding it." Blinking, angry and confused Sarah stumbled, pulling away from Hunnigan.

"You're not human," Sarah gasped, looking stunned.

"Have a nice day," Hunnigan said calmly, "I look forward to talking with you."

**Grant**

The girl came back upset, crying even. He would never understand teenage girls, but seeing as they were some of the only blue badges, they stuck together.

"Your appointment wasn't that bad was it?" Grant asked, after Sarah had slammed and stomped her way into the room. Crying quietly, she didn't reply. Instead she curled up into the folding chair the room had to offer. "That bad huh," Grant rose warily to his feet and shuffled over to Sarah. He sat down upon the foldout bed next to her, silently waiting.

"I asked her about him."

"Him?"

"Tweak," Sarah sniffed. "The one I told you about."

"Ah, the one who took care of you after your brother and parents died." Swiping at her tears, Sarah nodded.

"What news did you learn?"

"Nothing. She gave me some stupid lecture about species and making the right decision," Sarah said, distraught. "She sounded like she was quoting from some kind of book on on-she gave me a fucking _bible_ _passage_ to study!" Sarah thrust the paper at Grant. "She said she was going to set up a library visit so I could _think_ about it." New tears of anger were trickling down her face.

Curiously, Grant unfolded the paper. He frowned studying it for a moment, his eye brows creased.

"Well my girl, she did the right thing," Grant said finally.

"What!?" Sarah exploded, uncurling to face Grant.

"Little pitchers have big ears," Grant said lowly. Sarah glared at him, going still. The phrase was one they used to communicate without speaking. It meant that the man-Karkarov-was listening in. They'd discovered just after the outbreak at Delta Two that Karkarov had ears and eyes and spies everywhere within the compound. That was how both Grant and herself had been blue tagged.

"You want me to shut up and listen," Sarah said after a moment, her typical response phrase for Grant's warning signal. A way of demonstrating that she understood without saying as much. They would somehow carry on conversation but they would communicate in a way Karkarov wouldn't be able to understand.

"If a child your age can," Grant said soothingly as possible. In other words, _yes_. Sarah mulled on that, still sniffing back tears and now a running nose.

"You're annoying you know that?" Sarah replied. _Fine_. She was listening but only just. Anger at the injustice around her was burning just beneath the surface.

"Now how could you turn your back on such an _opportunity_ to visit the _compound's library_?" Grant chided her. The words, opportunity and compound's library hung in her ears. "_Especially_ when the nice lady is _going out of her way_ to set up such a trip herself." Leaning forward, past Sarah, Grant opened the nightstand squeezed just next to here. There in the top drawer was a copy of the King James Bible. They had a bible in their room? Sarah blinked, tears still rolling from her eyes. Why make a trip to the compound library if-

"There must be _something_ you can learn from this experience," Grant continued, as he quietly picked up the bible. Something to learn? He leaned back on the bed and opened the book. "Perhaps we should work this together?" Grant asked. He picked at a pencil in his flannel breast pocket. "Could read the book and verses out loud?" Grant handed Sarah the paper. Taking a breath, Sarah took the small slip. Her eyes narrowed as she read the paper. Twice she read it and still she could make no sense of it.

Psalm 2

Vs. 2 – 6,2,5 2

Vs. 3- 39, 2, 78, 15, 3, 39

Vs. 4 -55

Vs. 6 – 1, 20

Vs. 10- 15, 15, 4

Vs. 11- 28, 2, 32, 10, 35, 10, 3, 3, 10, 13

"What?" Sarah began.

"Just the psalm number and the verses please," Grant said eyeing Sarah over the edge of the book. "Maybe we can think about this together." Confusion and a sudden understand of an unspoken great possibility made her continue. For the next few hours Sarah and Grant deciphered Hunnigan's coded message. It was simple and to the point. Psalm 2 read differently when Grant showed Sarah just what the numbers in each verse referred to:

Two Hundred

My Office

Tomorrow

"She said I could bring company," Sarah said quietly to Grant after the bible and slip of paper had been put away. "Would you go to the library with me?"

"Of course," Grant replied.


	80. House Arrest II

"The day belongs to people, but the Night belongs to the Others."

–Lucky O'Lepracaun, Children's Book

**Mike**

"We're going to continue where we left off before," Mike spoke as much to himself as the to the silent machines about him. There were armed guards of course, but they never talked. They were hired mercenary professionals, supplied by their current leader and commander, Karkarov.

To Mike's knowledge, Karkarov had done little to nothing to save the world beyond Delta Two. Latest satellite Intel indicated a world becoming increasingly overrun with infected BOW's. Larger cities such as Los Angeles, Chicago, New York had fallen in the first three weeks. Of course there were pockets of humanity here and there across the nation. Many military bases had done as Karkarov had, sealing themselves off from the rest of the nation, serving as the few standing bastions of civilization. The BOW's-the zombies-were bad enough. Humans, the precious few survivors in the wastelands of the world, were worse. As civilization crumbled so did human ethics and morals. With no constrains, no consequences, chaos ruled and the video feed the satellites picked up was increasingly violent.

Mike sank into his chair, his hands coming to life upon his keyboard. He shook off the thoughts. At least he was here, he was involved in work that could potentially help people. But first they had to crack the otherkin physiology. If the genetics of an Otherkin could be reproduced and induced into a more trusted _human_, the bioterrorism corrupting the world wouldn't stand so much as a ghost of a chance. For this reason alone, Mike was going on hour 15 of his research. Monster energy drinks littered his console. The data before him was astounding.

According to the musculature experiment, the sheer muscle density of the Otherkin was nearly five times that of a regular human. Their bone density, like wise, was nearly three times that of a human's. While the process by which Otherkin broken down foods appeared to be nearly identical to that of humans, there was a clear indication that the sheer numbers of caloric intake was far increased to normal human consumption. There was in fact a down side to apparent super human strength, as the Otherkin needed twice as much food to support such a physiology.

Mike leaned back considering. While the immuno systems of Otherkin were far advanced and hyper active, it would seem the processes that fueled nearly every aspect of an Otherkin's body was just as ordinary as a human's body. In fact, the immuno system coupled with the advanced healing process left Mike puzzled. How could such a superior physiology work on such a limited input of energy? Otherkin put out ridiculous amounts of energy for what they supposedly consumed. There was something he was missing, some evolutionary link that made Otherkin some how….feasible. At the moment they made absolutely no sense.

One did not consume less and output more, that was a fundamental rule of chemistry. The energy put out had to equate to the energy put in. Perhaps the way Otherkin refined food wasn't so normal as it appeared. Mike sighed. This new question would mean more experiments. They would have to cut one of the Otherkin open and examine the stomach and other organs of the digestive system. In all actuality they'd have to cut up all of them. Differences in Otherkin were almost as important as similarities between them. Mike suspected there were numerous differing 'breeds' of Otherkin. The small collection Delta Two housed must only be a sample of a subset of humanity that was as diverse as the human race was conforming.

Mike sighed. It was already difficult enough keeping them _sedated_. Nearly half of their life saving serum went to keeping the Otherkin sedated. The other half should have gone to saving humans, and for the most part it did. Already several bitten infectees had been saved when the serium had been administered quickly enough. Still, Mike was unsatisfied by Karkarov's executive decisions, not that it made a whit of difference what he thought. Just the other day he'd caught one of Karkarov's men dumping half a container of beer over one of the sedated female's hair and face. He'd stopped when Mike intervened. Such behavior made him feel small, as it was unacceptable behavior to any living thing, even if that thing was an Otherkin. Perhaps there had been something to Hunnigan's warnings. She refused to speak with him and still did not believe the Otherkin posed a threat to humans. Despite obvious evidence to the contrary.

"We're going to need some sterile medical equipment," Mike said suddenly, "A doctor as well."

**Sarah **

The compound was eerie at night. Few lights were on-another long term energy saving tactic of Karkarov's. Hallways that roared with activity during the day echoed with Grant and Sarah's quiet footsteps by night. Silently they crept, neither speaking, as if traversing through a cemetery. Grant followed Sarah to Hunnigan's Office. Sarah hesitated out side of her door, hand on the knob as she sought out Grant's gaze. Grant gave her one silent nod. Turning back, Sarah gently pushed open the door. Golden light flooded into the darkened hallway as the door swung open. Hunnigan looked up expectantly from her desk.

"Get in quickly, close the door," She ordered, before returning her attention back to her desk. Her hands were working quietly at a black flat keyboard. A tiny glass, see through monitor gave off a green glow. Hunnigan worked furiously. She had, at one time, been a top agent with Field Operative Support. That was before she'd been assigned to Delta Two and the growing Otherkin problem. "Take a seat, please," Hunnigan said, distracted. Grant and Sarah looked to each other dubiously. Grant moved first, sinking into a metal, folding chair. Sarah was a moment in following, sighing and rolling her eyes as she did so.

"You are Ms. Hunnigan," Grant began after several minutes of quiet typing had passed.

"Ingrid," Hunnigan replied, eyes never leaving the small screen. "You can call me Ingrid. You are?" Brown eyes glanced up for a second to take Grant in.

"You can call me Grant," the detective replied. "Sarah's roommate."

"I know," Hunnigan replied. "I also understand that you're a retired policeman."

"Yes," Grant said slowly, "A detective for half my professional career."

"You've had arms training?" Hunnigan asked, curtly.

"Yes," Grant said, "Miss, what exactly-?"

"In a moment," Hunnigan interrupted. "Sarah," again the brown eyes flickered upwards, "am I to understand you want to see your Otherkin friend?"

"He has a name," Sarah said crossly, leaning back in her chair. This meeting was not exactly going as she thought it would.

"A simple yes or no will be suffice," Hunnigan replied.

"Yes, I want to see my friend Tweak," Sarah spit out, annoyed.

"Tweak?" Grant asked, his eyebrows furling as he turned to Sarah. "You never said his name was-"

"You'll excuse me for my curt behavior, but we're working on a limited time frame as. Of. Now," Hunnigan hit the Enter key on her keyboard roughly. Rising to her feet, she opened her desk drawers. She was dressed in her usual business attire, save for the lack of a skirt. Instead Hunnigan was wearing simple jeans. "I am here to enlist your aid." Reaching into the drawer, she withdrew two hand guns and several clips. Sarah's eyes widened at the sight of the metal. "Can I rely on you?" Hunnigan asked as she loaded a clip into the first gun.

"What exactly are you enlisting our aid for?" Grant asked calmly.

"She's crazy," Sarah replied incredulously.

"We're taking back the compound, overthrowing Karkarov, and freeing the Otherkin," Hunnigan stated. She crossed her arms. "We're doing it tonight," she added resolutely. Hunnigan pushed up the frames of her glasses. "Are you in or out?"

Sarah looked to Grant, eyes wide. Her decision was made quickly.

"I'm in," Sarah said as Grant held an arm out, as if to bar her from Hunnigan's wild ideas. Sarah glanced to him, bit back a thought she had been on the verge of saying. She looked to Hunnigan suspiciously now.

"Before that, why now?" Grant demanded quietly. Hunnigan studied him. "The world has gone to hell for months now. Any help the Otherkin may have given us is long gone. You know what they'll do to us-to you guys-if they're woken up."

" 'Woken up'?" Hunnigan repeated, raising an eyebrow. "The Otherkin are being taken care of-"

"If you believed that you wouldn't be asking for us to help you over throw what's left of the government," Grant replied calmly.

"So you are a detective after all," Hunnigan responded, a small satisfied smile on her face. "The are numerous unchecked Bio Organic Weapons infecting thousands upon thousands of humans and otherkin alike." Hunnigan paused, gathering her thoughts. "This world we live in, it can't be sanitized in a way that would effectively end this pandemic without the occurrence of massive nuclear fallout. Large cities the U.S., Europe, Asia, and Africa have fallen, viral patterns are spreading outward to less populated areas. It's estimated nearly a quarter of the world's population has been infected with one weaponized bio-organic virus or another. There is little that can be done in the way of slowing this on slought with some of our best field agents being held in isolation. The current state of our world is grim." Grant's shoulders sunk as the news hit him. Sarah's chin and eyes fell to the floor as she stared into nothingness. "For all intents and purposes, we are fighting a losing battle," Hunnigan continued ruthlessly. "Humanity will be overrun by their dead in little more than a month."

"A month?" Sarah asked, gaping.

"In only four weeks, its estimated that the pandemic will spread to half the world's population."

"What is the government doing?" Grant demanded. "What are the organizations and the UN-those people put in place to stop this sort of thing-doing?"

"This is it," Hunnigan gestured to the walls surrounding them. "Protocol 13. A fail safe plan for any unexpected large scale bio terrorism attack."

"Hiding?" Sarah asked.

"That's a simple way of putting it, yes," Hunnigan replied. "All military bases are now considered safe zones. The military personnel in charge of each safe zone have specific orders to keep human civilization alive by any means necessary."

"What about all those other people?" Sarah asked. "The ones not in safe zones?"

"There is very little lee-way in the interpretation of Protocol 13. You're either in the safe zone or you are considered a hostile," Hunnigan said slowly.

"That's crazy," Sarah exploded.

"Its logic," Hunnigan retorted.

"It's why you want to get the Otherkin out," Grant said, his eyebrows furrowed. "You think they can turn the tide."

"No," Hunnigan replied, "I_ know_ they can." She studied the old man and Sarah. "Well?"

"You want us to help you save the world," Grant said, returning her level gaze. "That is what you just asked us to do, isn't it?" Hunnigan nodded.

"I'm in," Sarah said, tossing the blue security badge on the floor. "This is crap," Sarah nodded to the badge. She stepped on it with her shoe. "I want to see Tweak." Both woman looked to Grant. The old man shifted uncomfortably in his chair.

"Who's idea was it to use the coded bible verse?" He said finally.

"Really?" Sarah asked, shooting him a look.

"Mine," Hunnigan replied. "The only people involved are us. I've had five months to encode my own fail safes in their computer security codes. I know where the Otherkin are and how to get us there without getting caught. I do need support once we get there however."

"The bible code was a World War 2 trick. It was very clever," Grant said. "I hope you're clever enough to get us out of this mess afterwards. I'll help you, Miss Ingrid." Hunnigan handed Grant the handgun.

"Excellent," Hunnigan said rising to her feet. "Follow me."


	81. Civil Unrest-Noob Level

**Hunnigan**

Her cell phone emitted a jamming signal, to keep her gps tracker confused. Constant pinging for a triangulation would make it impossible for them to track her at least until it was too late. It had taken her weeks to hack the video surveillance, create legitimate badge copies. She hadn't bothered sharing her little secret with Grant or Sarah. The fact that there was a very strong likelihood that they were going to get caught if-and when-they ran out of time.

The plan was simple, reckless and stupid. The guards would either be dispatched or dupped. Their badges would clear them. Hunnigan's mind raced through her plan, locating every flaw and the four possible ways she'd thought of to negate them. She hesitated at the hallway corner. Two guards were chatting outside of the elevator.

"What are we waiting for?" Sarah whispered next to her.

"Gaurds," Hunnigan said. She'd never shot a person and-despite the mandatory training-had no desire to.

"So?" Sarah hissed back.

"They should have been changing shifts right now," Hunnigan retorted, annoyed.

"And?" Sarah demanded.

"They aren't," Hunnigan snapped.

"That's it?" Sarah asked. Hunnigan shot her a look. Sarah ignored it, and stepped away from the corner, fixing the blue badge onto the front of her shirt. Eyes bulging, Hunnigan made sure the safety was off on her handgun.

"Who's there?" a guard demanded, the glare of a flashlight spotlighted the wall across from Hunnigan. Sarah's outline could be clearly made out.

"I was looking for the bathroom," Sarah's voice said with an unusual amount of girlishness.

"Blue badge huh?" the second guard demanded. Foot steps echoed, Sarah's outline got blurry and big. The guards were approaching. "They let you freaks out?"

"They let assholes hold guns?" Sarah snarked back under her breath, the girlishness gone. Hunnigan held her breath.

"What did you say?" the second guard demanded.

"The same thing Lor would have," Sarah said loudly. Hunnigan gave a mental nod of satisfaction. This was something Lor would do. No problem, she knew what to do next.

"What did you just say?" The first guard said slowly. 'Lor' was a name in the know, and these gentlemen were definitely in the know. Hunnigan made her move. She nodded to Grant.

"We make our move now. Play along." Turning the corner she held the guards at gun point. "Guns on the floor, now," She said smoothly, cocking the hammer. Hunnigan advanced on them slowly. Grant, she heard, at her right, cocking the hammer of his piece as well. The guards did as she asked. "That's it, silently and carefully. Take out your ties, toss them to her," Hunnigan continued. "On your stomachs." They did as she asked, going first to their knees then to their stomachs. "Faces on the floor," Hunnigan ordered. She nodded to Sarah. "You know the drill, hands behind your back."

Sarah tied them into submission with Grant's help. When they were done, the trio moved on. It took Hunnigan a moment to get access to the elevator. She relaxed only when the doors closed. She glanced to Grant and Sarah.

"That was risky," She said.

"Lor would've done it," Sarah shrugged. Grant nodded.

"She has a tendency to do that," Grant agreed. Hunnigan raised an eyebrow, taking the old man in, in a new light. Sarah looked over to him, puzzled.

"You didn't know her."

"I didn't?" Grant asked back.

"In either case, I hope you're ready for the next part," Hunnigan said after a moment. "It's probably going to get a lot more difficult."

**Mike**

His stomach rolled as the blood oozed out of the surgical cuts. He had never been a fan of gore, and watching this was making him sick. The female was the first-so far-to undergo the procedure. The medic was currently cutting across her abdomen, using clamps to hold the wound open as it attempted to heal. Mike had made the insistence that the surgeon use clean and sterile medical supplies. Despite the fact that he'd met with initial resistance to the idea, Mike's wishes had been followed.

As much as he didn't want to admit it, a lot of Hunnigan's initial arguments were coming to pass. Many of Karkarov's attitudes were that of a racist's. They assumed that since the Otherkin could heal so quickly, used scalpels and clamps would be sufficient. Even the participating medic was disgusted by Mike's simple, human requests. However scientifically, he'd reminded them that every and all variables had to be accounted for. Random viruses and bacterium included. Yes, the Otherkin had to be sedated medically. Yes, sterile equipment had to be used. It was as if the Otherkin were not living breathing people…

"Sir, there's unauthorized movement in the elevator." Distracted Mike tore his eyes away from the dissection.

"Elevator?" Mike asked stupidly.

"This is delta team reporting unauthorized elevator use. Team Alpha come in," The guard barked into his short range communicator. Crackling and silence followed his hail. "Get Echo team to the elevator," Delta caption ordered. In a moment nearly five men left the observation deck.

"Is there an interruption?" The surgeon asked via the the operating room's intercom.

"No," Mike scrambled to his own intercom. "Proceed with the experiment as planned." The surgeon nodded and returned to his bloody work. Gagging, Mike continued to monitor the test subject's responses, adverting his eyes from her blood. The elevator was dismissed from his thoughts in seconds.

**Delta Team **

In a matter of minutes the elevator door would open. Echo team arranged in a semi-circle, weapons held at ready. The slow descent of the elevator was almost maddening. All ten eyes watched as the slow light came to the last floor of Delta Two. A simple chime, and the slow recession of metal sliding doors heralded the dubious inside of the elevator. The men tensed, fingers moving from trigger guards to aggressive silence.

The elevator was empty.

"Hold your fire," Echo team captain barked, annoyed. "Delta team, this is echo. Alpha team is jerking our legs again. Elevator's empty. Echo team is returning to observation deck. Over and out."

**Sarah**

"This. Is. Disgusting," Sarah whispered. The dust on her hands and knees was nearly an inch thick of clotting dust bunnies.

"It was the only way to avoid direct confrontation," Hunnigan replied. Grant huffed and puffed, making the caboose of the train.

"Seriously, venting ducts?" Sarah whispered back. "We're going to get cancer."

"Would you like to see your friend again?" Hunnigan retorted. Sarah grunted. "That's what I thought," Hunnigan replied. "We take a right here." They crawled along, undisturbed and undetected for several minutes before Hunnigan had them come to a halt. "We're here," she declared. Crawling forward, she spun herself around and let herself drop. There was nothing to be seen but darkness

"Where the hell," Sarah began, the seeds of panic in her voice.

"There's a ladder, spin around carefully. We're in the main air works room for all of the lower floors of Delta Two," Hunnigan's voice echoed quietly.

"We're going to get dust cancer," Sarah retorted, crawling carefully forward. There was a ledge there, and a very sharp cut off. With what little room there was Sarah maneuvered herself and slung her bottom half over the ledge. Sure enough, with a little searching, her feet found the top rung of a ladder. Climbing down, Sarah joined Hunnigan in a cramped room filled with more twisting duct work, and perhaps more importantly, a door. Grant was a moment in joining them. When he had made his way safely down, Hunnigan indicated to the door.

"This should lead to the maintenance walk ways. No one should be in them now. We'll have to avoid main hallways. No doubt by now, they've discovered the elevator and raised their guard," Hunnigan explained. Sarah shrugged.

"How exactly do you plan on freeing the Otherkin if we're so unevenly outnumbered?" Grant asked warily.

"Its night, they have only a skeleton staff on," Hunnigan began. "Also, we're freeing the field agents Karkarov has locked up first."

"Hey," Sarah said, "You never said anything about-"

"The field agents are trained with firearms as well as hand to hand combat. We're going to need help if the Otherkin are as heavily guarded as I think they are," Hunnigan cut Sarah short. "Understood?" Sarah rolled her eyes.

"Whatever."

"This way," Hunnigan retorted, pushing open the door.

**Leon**

It was a full three months they'd been put into prison by their own people. Leon leaned back on against the cell wall. They'd all been taken into custody when Karkarov had assumed control of Delta Two, starting with the isolation of 'Otherkin and their sympathizers'. Leon doubted the President had anything to do with their internment. Not when he reported directly to the President. Things must be bad in the outside world. God what he would give to know. To know Chris, Sheva, and Jill were okay. To know whatever bioterrorist wasn't creating zombies or BOW's left and right.

The night guard walked by, sneering at Leon as he went. That never got old apparently. A dull thud and small electric blue light lit up the space of the hallway just out of sight. What the hell? Leon leaned forward and rose to his feet. A small girl shadow flitted in front of his cell door.

"Hunnigan I found him!" The voice was unmistakable.

"Sarah?" Leon asked, squinting in the dark. She was joined by an old man and Hunnigan. "Hunnigan, what's going on?"

"Jail break," Sarah said, moving aside. Hunnigan was quick with the keys.

"Karkarov has assumed control of Delta Two," Hunnigan said as the lock to Leon's cell door clanked.

"Tell me something I don't know," Leon replied.

"About a quarter of the world's population is zombified," Sarah piped up.

"The Otherkin are being held here as well," The old man added.

"They might be the only thing to reverse this," Hunnigan finished. "If we're caught, we're dead. Karkarov is worse than a dictator. Chris, Sheva, and Jill are all being held in similar cell blocks. After we've retrieved them, we're waking the Otherkin." Leon blinked.

"We're on a clock," Sarah said. "This guy is Grant. He's a detective."

"Right," Leon said, blinking.

"Here," Hunnigan handed him a cell phone. "We should split up. I'll retrieve Jill. You go for Sheva. We'll meet up at Chris's cell. There should be a map to both cell blocks. All of them are located on this floor. Take Sarah with you." Hunnigan handed him the downed guard's handgun. "Be careful Leon."

"What?" Sarah demanded. "Why do I have to go with him?"

"You keep good company," Leon replied easily. He turned his attention to Hunnigan. "Anything else?"

"No casualties," Hunnigan said. "If you can manage it."

"This keeps getting better and better," Leon replied, shoving the gun in his jean pocket. God. Was that smell his? "Alright kid, let's go."


	82. Civil Unrest-Campaign Mode

**Civil Unrest, Campaign Mode**

**Hunnigan **

It had been easy gathering up the best field agents BSAA and FOS had to offer. Surprisingly easy. Perhaps Karkarov had never thought anyone would have the balls to attempt a coup de tat. It didn't matter. Hunnigan stood side by side with Grant, Sheva, Jill, Leon, and Sarah. They were six strong against one lone guard. Somehow or another Sarah had found where Karkarov had stored the Otherkin weapons. She was carrying a heavy canvas bag loaded down with the clanking odds and ends.

The odds didn't seem fair, but Hunnigan had no time for pity. With Sheva and Leon heading the assault, Hunnigan and Grant took up the rear. Sarah was safely folded in the middle of the group and guarded by Jill. The guard was disabled before he knew what hit him.

"That looks painful," Sarah commented as she stepped over him. Chris was able bodied however it was clear that of all four captives, Chris had received 'special' treatment. His face bore the bruises. He was given the same briefing Leon had gotten.

"That's bullshit," Chris said flatly. "Without a diversion, you'll never get there." Chris scratched his head. "We'll need this guy's weapons. If we're taking Delta Two we're doing it without the Otherkin. They keep the Otherkin sedated, so they can experiment on them. Sick bastards are probably cutting them up again tonight. You're going to need one hell of a distraction to get the guards away from their posts."

"What?" Sarah went pale. Grant put a comforting hand on her shoulder.

"The sedation has a lingering effect," Hunnigan commented. "I wasn't going to count on the otherkin to help us as it was. Is there anything else you know?"

"They had me in and out of there a lot," Chris admitted. He nodded to Leon. "They were going to move on to you after they finished with me. Karkarov is keeping the whole bunch of them side by side in a huge viewing room. Getting to them shouldn't be hard once you get past the security."

"What kind of distraction?" Jill asked, coolly. "How are we taking out Karkarov?"

"A big one," Chris replied.

"I can get you to Karkarov, but you're on your own for the distraction," Hunnigan said.

"How about an explosion?" Sarah asked, holding up several grenades.

"Where did you-?" Leon said with a start.

"They were in the same room as the weapons were," Sarah said, jiggling the bag. "I grabbed them."

"Kids," Chris grumbled, taking the grenades. He studied them for a moment before stowing them into the weapons belt he'd 'borrowed' from his captor. "This'll do."

"Set them off in the cafeteria and the base hanger, if possible," Hunnigan said after a moment. All eyes turned to her. "It would be most effective. Civilians will be present in the cafeteria, but you should be able to take down the security and create a little chaos in the process. The hanger will be for insurance."

"That might work," Chris agreed.

"What about the civilians?" Leon demanded.

"Be careful," Grant said quietly. Eyes turned to the old man. Grant straitened himself. "This is war. Be careful not to create any casualties, but do what you must." Chris and Leon exchanged looks.

"And who are you?" Chris asked, raising an eyebrow.

"A detective," Grant said with a small smile. Chris nodded politely.

"What about Karkarov?" Sheva asked, interrupting the exchange.

"Take him out," Hunnigan said. "Keep him alive if possible. We can restore order later." She raised an eyebrow, "Use extreme force if you have to. Karkarov is only following orders after all."

"Like a dick," Sarah muttered bitterly to herself. Sheva gave a weak smile at that.

"Or dictator," Hunnigan replied. "We have about three hours before the 0600 shift starts. This needs to be done by then. I'll be able to better support all of you after we've cut the sedation of the Otherkin."

"Nothing like working on a time limit," Jill said, unshouldering her commandeered AK. She began to check her clips for an ammo count. Sheva followed suit.

"Alright. Best of luck," Hunnigan said. "Let's move out."

**Mike**

They'd finished the experiments. It had felt like hours. Each Otherkin had survived their surgical procedures. On a similar note, almost all the Otherkin had the same internal healing processes. Like wise their E-TAP readings did spike while the healing processes were occurring. Mike had been able to refine the E-TAP reading process. It was one of many small side projects Mike had been working on. Not that he'd used the new refined ETAP readings on the reports he sent to General Karkarov.

No, in all honesty, there was a lot he had wanted to discuss with Hunnigan. A lot of small side notes he'd been monitoring and fitting together like puzzle work. He couldn't get her to budge. He'd crossed lines when he'd submitted that fateful report three months ago. Mike regretted it now. He watched as the last female's clothing was haphazardly thrown over her body, rather than put on. He'd go in later and make sure she was properly dressed. As he did, likewise, with the male Otherkin when they were left exposed. In his own way, Mike observed Hunnigan's insistence that the Otherkin be treated like people. Despite this, Mike knew in his gut that Otherkin were dangerous. There was far too much proof supporting this thought.

Mike sighed. It would be a long night-day?-of work.

"Everyone is dismissed for the night," He said, rising from his chair. "Thank you for your work."

**Hunnigan**

She jerked Sarah backwards as the sliding door to the observation and experimentation room slid open. Stifling the girl's surprised squeak, Hunnigan held her had over Sarah's mouth as she dragged the pre-teen backwards, down the hall they'd just come. They were in luck. The lights-none of them on for this particular hallway-bathed them in shadows. Silently, tensely they waited as an armed military and numerous medical and scientific staff members emerged from the doorway.

Not one so much as looked in their direction. After they had passed Hunnigan released Sarah. The two women looked to each other. Stepping up on their left Grant held up his handgun. He nodded to the two women.

"How do you propose we enter?" Grant asked.

"I'll enter, you cover me. Sarah you're our support," Hunnigan explained.

"Support?"

"The lookout," Grant said. "Stay put, any one comes back give us warning."

"Are you kidding me?" Sarah demanded. "First I'm a pack mule, then I'm a lookout?"

"Its not safe," Hunnigan said.

"And inviting me was?" Sarah retorted. "I can help. You know I can. I know Tweak."

"That is one of out of eight Otherkin. Hardly useful," Hunnigan snapped. "Stay here or I'm confining you to the confines once this is done." With that the adults moved out.

The door to the experimentation room slid open quietly. Hunnigan held her breath her palms sweaty. The observation deck was empty and devoid of life. Several computers were on. It was easy to tell by the amount of garbage surrounding it, which desk belonged to Mike. Hunnigan advanced into the room slowly, followed by Grant.

The entire room was devoid of life.

"Where is everyone?" Grant demanded.

"The diversion worked," Hunnigan replied, slowly making her way to the observation window. "What am I seeing?" She asked flatly. Grant stepped up beside her. On the far right a rather obese man was attempting to fit an unconscious woman's arm into the sleeve of a white medical gown. He was clearly uncomfortable to be in the same room as the woman-Trish, let alone to touch her. Had he known what she had previously done to this room, he'd probably piss himself. Granted, Mike was a gentleman, even if he was an awkward one. He would have had an easier time with his task if he was actually looking at the woman.

"What kind of medical experimentation where they doing down here?" Grant asked, indicating with an empty gesture. Hunnigan noted the bloodstained floor. She glanced to Grant before setting her handgun on the window ledge.

"Go lock the door. It's the giant red button on the control panel left of the door," Hunnigan replied. "Call Sarah in as well." Silently Grant did as she asked. Meanwhile, Hunnigan flicked on the intercom system.

"Sexual harassment is a serious criminal offense penalized in every work place," she said flatly. Mike jumped, looking about himself in confusion. At least until he looked to the windows. Quickly he made his way over to the intercom.

"Hunnigan?" Mike asked surprised. "How did you get down here?"

"Why are you dressing a sedated, half naked woman?" Hunnigan asked flatly.

"The technician failed to do his job properly," Mike blinked, looking up at the window. "He fails at it on a daily basis." Releasing the intercom button Hunnigan sighed. Mike was telling the truth. He was too logical-and too scared of Otherkin retaliation-to think of anything devious.

"I'm stopping the sedation of the Otherkin," Hunnigan said. "You're free to stay in the room when they wake up or to join me up here. You will however, make no move to impede or stop me in any way. Is that clear?"

"Did Karkarov put you in control again?" Mike asked. Ignoring the question, Hunnigan traded the intercom for the first of eight biofeed systems. She eyed the pale, sedated Otherkin. They were dressed identically in white gowns. She swept the rooms, making mental notes. The males were housed on the left, the females on the right. Starting with the twins-disturbing that she couldn't tell the difference between the two at the moment-there were the delegates Sarah was fond of, two male followed by a female. Then it was the two red heads and the blonde. She shuddered to think that Chris, Leon, Sheva, and Jill could have all easily joined the unlucky eight before her. Mike was still chattering on the intercom when she began to cut the sedation and bio feeds to Trish. Seeing the machinery cease propelled Mike out of the observation room. By the time Mike had make it to the Oberservation Deck, he joined Sarah and Grant in watching Hunnigan cut the bio feed on Trish.

"Do you have clearance to do this?" Mike asked, huffing.

"Give him a seat," Hunnigan said distractedly as she moved on to Rayne's sedation feed. Sarah pulled up a chair. "Sit," Hunnigan said, not bothering to look to Mike. Mike hesitated.

"Now," Grant said firmly, gesturing with the handgun. Brows furrowed, Mike silently sat.

"We're taking back Delta Two," Hunnigan said flatly as she cut the bio feed to Rayne. "Karkarov is out of line and deviating from Protocol."

"What?" Mike exclaimed, rising to his feet.

"Sit," Hunnigan barked, pausing from her work. Unrestrained anger etched her mouth into a hard line. Mike sat, blinking. He'd never seen Hunnigan furious.

"Protocol 13 does not contain provisions for turning away uninfected civilians," Hunngian began. "Nearly 1000 healthy citizens have been rejected by Karkarov in the past few months since the bioterrorism struck. In addition to this, the unethical experimentation using military staff personnel goes against numerous anti-bioterrorism laws established in our country under the Anti-bio-organic Outbreak Act, as put in motion by our government within the last three years. In addition to these crimes, Karkarov is impeding our best Bio-terrorism Agents by unjustly imprisoning them." Hunnigan paused and returned to the third sedation feed. "Due to these facts, as third in command at military base Delta Two, I hear-by declare Karkarov unfit to continue his role as commander." Hunnigan cut the bio-feed for Lucia. "Do you understand what I have just said?" Hunnigan asked.

"Yes," Mike said softly after a moment.

"Good. As assuming commander, I am offering you a chance to plead your case before you are charged with the before stated crimes along side Karkarov." Hunnigan moved on to the female delegate that had arrived with Sarah's friend. Sarah had her nose pressed against the observation window, whispering some prayer to herself.

"I was only following orders," Mike began, bewildered.

"Is that all?" Hunnigan demanded gravely.

"Yes?" Mike stroked his beard. "Karkarov was sending away civilians?" Hunnigan glanced to him sharply. Mike held up his hands. "I didn't know."

"Is ignorance an excuse?" Hunnigan asked flatly. She moved on to the first male. Another Otherkin she had yet to meet.

"Isn't it?" Mike demanded, confused now.

"You deny monitoring the satellite feed Delta Two received?" Hunnigan asked. The biofeed for the fifth Otherkin was cut.

"I don't deny it," Mike said. "But I wasn't looking at Delta Two." Mike coughed uncomfortably. "I was working on a, um, side project."

"Hmm," Hunnigan moved to the second delegate Karkarov had shot down and sedated unlawfully. "Is there anything further you would like to share with me?"

"Yeah," Mike said, "I know where Lor is." At that Hunnigan froze. She turned to Mike, waiting. "Karkarov doesn't know she's out there. He's into everything here, but he doesn't look into the outside world. You might say Lor has been one of my side projects."

"We'll discuss this a few moments," Hunnigan said, returning to her work. She paused. She was at the twins. "Which one is Vergil?" She asked.

"What?" Mike asked.

"Which one is Vergil?" Hunnigan demanded, irritated.

"How would I know?" Mike replied.

"How couldn't you?" Hunnigan whirled to face him.

"The techs sometimes shifted them around. I honestly don't know which one is which."

"Mike, if I wake up the wrong twin it could mean the difference between life and death. Dante is reasonable. Vergil will make you suffer and God help us, you'd deserve it."

"I don't know which is which," Mike said, looking panicked. "I was never introduced to either of them."

"You're an overeducated idiot," Hunnigan cursed.

"She's waking up," Sarah said. "Look." Trish was stirring. Sarah looked to Hunnigan. "There were clothes. Where they kept the weapons." Sarah dropped the heavy duffle bag. "I grabbed them."

"Get them to her," Hunnigan said. "Be careful. Grant go with her. I need word in private with Mike." When the two were gone, Hunnigan turned her full unrestrained attention on Mike. She left the twins sedated. She'd deal with that disaster when she came to it.

"Mike, what did you do to these people?" Hunnigan said lowly.

"We tested their limits as best as we could," Mike said quietly. "I mainly tested their E-TAP readings, but Karkarov had us explore their genetics and their physiology."

"They will possibly kill you when they learn what you did to them without your permission," Hunnigan crossed her arms. "I won't be able to help you if that's the case." She waited while Mike's shoulders began a downward slump. "Please tell me you have something to offer other than your side project on Lor. Tell me," Hunnigan said, "You have some kind of peace treaty you can offer for their three month internment."

"I might," Mike said thoughtfully. Hunnigan sighed. "Karkarov has all the experimentation data," Mike defensively. "There were several things I was able to develop that actually sustained the Otherkin during their internment."

"It's a start, but you had better have more than just a wonder vitamin," Hunnigan said. "Disappear and stay that way until I come to find you. If we're lucky they'll never put two and two together, however they're not that stupid and assuming they would be as much is foolish." Hunnigan studied Mike for a moment more. "Dismissed. Report to your lab until ordered otherwise."

"Yes ma'am," Mike nodded. Slowly he rose to his feet. "Its good to talk to you again Ingrid." Hunnigan nodded quietly. She turned her attention back to the observation room. Trish was sitting up weakly with help from Grant. Sarah was keeping a watchful eye on Rayne as the Dhampire began to stir as well. This battle was only just beginning.


	83. Waking the Titans

The sweetest sadness in your eyes

Clever Trick

I'd never want to see you unhappy

I thought you'd want the same for me

Goodbye my almost lover

Goodbye my hopeless dream

-Almost Lover, A FINE FRENZY

**Vergil**

He was dreaming. It had been a long, long time since he'd dreamed. Nightmares he lived with, they were as absolute and real to him as the waking world. Nightmares composed his waking life. But dreaming. That was something he'd forgotten a long, long time ago. Along with other things.

_The wind howled and it was cold. He never felt the cold, but if he did he assumed that this would be what it felt like. A biting, tingling lack of feeling that spread from the tips of his ears, fingers, and nose outward. The lack of feeling spread outward slowly, like water seeping through a cotton cloth. It was snowing, giant thick swirls of clouds were falling. They danced around him in the wind, running past like mini razors. Below him the blackness churned, frothing and rolling in a rage. He couldn't-of all the places… His eyes strained, searching. Yes even his superior eyesight searched. To no avail. He couldn't see beyond the black veil. There was nothing but churning ocean water now. Whatever had been now receded backwards into what had never been. The cold bit at him, the wind nearly blew through him. He couldn't. Shouldn't. Smothering the thought, he turned away, into the cold wind. Somehow, he ignored the gaping sinking hole of cold within his person. _

_And then, as he turned, it became warm. Without understanding or caring how, he was in a new place, no longer on the winter cliff over the sea. He was laying on his stomach, another white expanse lay out in front of him, cut off by an edge of black. His arm cradled a pillow, the other arm falling over the edge of the bed, finger tips nearly touching the ground. Rolling onto his back, he held his breath, momentarily tensing. Nothing attacked him, although he was expecting it. Nothing tried to take his life. This was how he knew he was dreaming, rather than experiencing another nightmare. In the dream his eyes searched out for his surroundings. He was certainly in a bed, but he couldn't tell where that bed was. _

_For a moment he thought he might be there on the night his mother died. In the bed she was raped in. It wouldn't be unusual to dream of a nightmare such as that, to remember. A sudden touch made him jump. A pale spider of a hand traced an outline on his stomach. Finger tips gently moved from his side inwards, before dropping limply and resting several inches above his belly button. The hand didn't make a move to strangle him, to molest him, the nails hadn't drawn blood nor sheered away flesh. It didn't mutate into something other than what it was. It was a hand, a delicate, feminine one. It simply lay there as if its owner had forgotten its existence, or rather…fallen asleep. _

_He looked over. He was right. The hand's owner had fallen asleep. Her eyes were closed and her hair trailed in black rivers across her bare skin. Her breathing was soft and deep. It was an undisturbed sleep. She rarely slept that way, to his knowledge. Gently he soothed out a stray hair. She didn't crumble under his touch, didn't suddenly awaken and take on the spite of a vengeful ghost. Instead she sighed contentedly and pulled herself closer to him. She was trapping his arm, but experience had taught him not to bother moving her. She'd just travel in her sleep back to his side. He sighed, closing his eyes. He would dream soon after this, when he slept again, and he would see horrors that were uncontested only by that which he had yet to see in the waking world. In that moment however, as he lay awake in his dream, he was content, which he found unnerving. Such an unfamiliar thing, this quiet and this calm. There was something strangely soothing about laying there in the warm darkness. _

_He would never tell a soul about this small mercy, this small momen in his life. If no one knew about it, it could never be taken from him. _

That's when he remembered, this wasn't a dream. He had forgotten how to dream. Along with other things. This…this was a memory. It wasn't his memory. He didn't have a scar, he'd given his brother a scar though. And he _did_ dream. He dreamed a lot actually, usually of Trish. _Trish_. He knew every inch of her body and he'd deck any punk who even attempted to make a similar claim. He could see her curves and he way she moved her hips when she walked. The feeling of his body was returning in a big way. Groggily, he opened his eyes. The light overhead was near blinding.

"What's the story morning glory?" Dante asked in a rough voice. Vergil looked over. A feeling of déjà vu washed over him as he did so. Dante met his gaze. "My brains are five times too big for my skull." What a hideous sight to wake up to. Groaning, Vergil forced himself to sit up. To his surprise, his arms shook with effort as he did so. "Take it easy Verg," Dante said, not bothering to rise from his own medical tray of a bed. Dante had an arm thrown over his eyes, blocking out the overhead lights. Vergil took in his surroundings, his head beginning to pound. He picked his brain. How had he wound up here? What had happened? Why was he thinking about dark, quiet rooms?

Ignoring Dante, Vergil rose to his feet. He was weakened. Drastically, horrifyingly weak. Quietly, Vergil swore the most foul word of the various underworld slang languages he had mastered. This kind of weakness, he'd experienced it before. He was not going to heed his sibling's advice. Not with the vomit inducing residual dream-nightmare-images of Trish still fresh in his mind's eye. It took a second but he swung his legs over the edge of the bed.

Vergil didn't so much as stumble as his legs gave out on him. To any on looker, he simply appeared to be taking a knee. Growling quietly, Vergil grasped at the bed's edge, now located far above him with quiet, white knuckled fury. What happened? He couldn't remember. Anger-sheer rage-enabled him to do nothing more than slowly pull himself to his feet and take two shaking, infantile steps to a near-by wall. It was there Vergil leaned against the cool concrete, mentally reeling.

Unsurprisingly, his memory was filled with a gaping black hole. There were only threads, broken fragmented memories stained with blood. They had been tricked. He remembered watching as his idiotic twin went to his knees and thinking the moron should just stay that way. Trish fainted as she tried to rise to her feet, her head hitting the table with a hard sound. Then he'd felt it, eeking slowly into his bones and digging a way into his mind. The air had been scentless. He'd crushed the small, metal cup in his hand until its contents rolled over his fist. It was only then he smelled the toxicity of the liquid. The first of many soldiers received the cup in his eye socket. He remembered-at one point-tearing a man's arm off entirely. With the debilitating effects of the mystery toxin it wasn't long before he was on his knees, restrained at gunpoint. The last thing he remembered was a man-a human's-leering face.

_Goddamn humans_. He'd slaughter them. Every. Goddamn. One. Of. Them. Vergil growled. His legs were shaking from the effort of remaining standing.

"This is Hunnigan. We don't have much time, I'll make it short and to the point. You were drugged by General Karkarov and placed in isolation unjustly. I've cut your sedatives, however you're going to feel the lingering effects," Hunnigan's voice boomed in the nearly empty room. "I've bought some time with a diversion tactic," Hunnigan paused, "We'll be moving all of you to a secure location soon."

Vergil glanced across the room. The dhampire, Trish, Dante, and Lucia were all present. Along with three Fey. He never recalled meeting any fey recently. Each and every one of them were in differing states of grogginess. Dante was still spread eagle on his back, one leg drawn up. Trish had rolled on her side. Lucia wasn't moving. Rayne had made it to her stomach, and much like him, was pulling herself towards the edge of the bed, determined to free herself of it by hook or crook. The Fey as well appeared to be suffering. The green haired one was struggling to sit up while the other two-clearly his companions-looked to him with panicked expressions. Vergil began to see why almost immediately.

As they gained awareness, the companion fey's expressions changed from grogginess to panic to a look of absolute pain. Iron. The beds had to be made of an iron mixture. The smell of cooking flesh began to fill the room. The green haired fey struggled in vain to reach his companions. Vergil watched, impassive and indifferent. He couldn't help himself let alone a fey. The room's door slid open with a young woman sprinting into the room. She didn't hesitate to grab an arm and a leg of the first fey. With a rough yank, she pulled him off the bed and onto the floor. Quickly she moved to the second fey, performing the same graceless procedure.

"Get a first aid kit," She shouted, "They're badly burned." Upon seeing her, the green haired fey stop struggling and eased himself onto his elbows, watching the scene. An old man entered the room, scurrying to the young woman, med kit in hand.

"We're front row for the freak show," Dante commented. Vergil didn't bother saying anything. Instead, he turned to face his brother, his back and body supported by the wall. His arms hung like useless sacks of meat at his sides.

"They are going to die," Vergil said finally, his voice quiet with anger. At that Dante looked over to his twin, arm flopping uselessly back on the bed.

"Just maim'em," Dante said, after a moment's consideration. "It's a fate worse than death." Vergil raised an eyebrow. Dante was giving him permission to physically harm a human? Had he misheard?

"The virtuous Dante endorses the maiming of a human?"

"The Black Knight loved a human," Dante said weakly, chuckling as he looked to the ceiling. "Anything is possible." Again Vergil thought of a dark room. Strange. Why couldn't he remember more of it? Dante looked back to Vergil. "We got here somehow didn't we?" To that, Vergil growled, allowing himself to sink slowly to the floor. He would rest, for now.

**Sarah**

Iron. They had put descendants of the Old Folk on a metal mixture bed-on an iron bed. _Of all the bastardish, stupid, ignorant asshole things to do_. The fey couldn't touch iron, it burned them. On the floor both Rowan and Sage writhed in agony. Sarah worked desperately to ease their pain.

"Help me turn him over," Sarah barked at Grant, pointing to Rowan's leg. "He's been burned. I'm going to need the scissors and hydrogen peroxide." It wasn't hard cutting the soft moss skin shirt from Rowan's aflamed back. What was hard was seeing what the bed had done to his back. Third degree blisters and dark, burnt skin greeted her as she gently peeled the shirt back.

"I'm going to clean this and then heal it," Sarah spoke soothingly to Rowan. Her elvish wasn't great, but she knew Rowan understood. Teeth clenched, eyes wide, he nodded once. "Where is your spirit bag?" Sarah asked. Spirit bags often contained the element the fey was born from, something for them to draw strength from when hurt or away from home. Rowan and Sage both had spirit bags, as they were both full fledged Elves and not a half breed like Tweak. Rowan-arm shaking from weakness and pain-reached for a small pouch at his waist. Sarah nodded and gently removed it from his hip. "It will hurt when I clean it. Brace yourself, brother earth." Again a pained nod. Sarah looked up. Quietly Grant held out the peroxide and some gauze. Sarah took it, switching back to English.

"Hold him down," she said, "He's a warrior but he's not going to like this." Rowan screamed as she cleaned his wounds. Sarah deadened her ears to his pain, despite the tears running down her face. When at last his skin had been doused in the peroxide, she gently opened the spirit bag, oblivious to the room about her. She gently emptied the contents of the bag into her palm. A robin's egg shell, a white, smooth shell, and the dried out herb of Rowan's name sake. Replacing the robin's egg shell and the white beach shell, Sarah crushed the herb in her hand, at a loss. She knew the ingredients to the spell, but not the means of casting it. "Ah…water. I think I need water," Sarah said after a moment, her memory failing.

"No," Tweak's voice was weak. "No water. Do you remember the chant?"

"No," Sarah admitted, tearing up, "I never learned." Rowan's pain was contagious. How could she save her friend? Tweak had refused to allow her to learn feyish magic. Even a simple healing spell was almost beyond her. He had denyed her so much of the world they had both lived in. Then he had pushed her away, exiled her. Sarah smothered the thought.

"It would seem I was misguided in my beliefs," Tweak said after a silent moment. "Listen, remember." She listened to his voice-a voice she had wanted to hear for so long. She listened and remembered, going to a sunny, calm memory within. She remembered, a green grassy clearing. The ancient grandmother, Radec, teaching her the hand gestures, the words, but most importantly, how to create the intent to fuel the spell. But perhaps most importantly, Radec had taught her how to summon up the energy to drive it all, to push the spell into being. The old grandmother had done this knowing of Tweak's disapproval. Despite that, Sarah had learned. She could no feel the prickling energy that traveled from her heart cords to the source she directed it to. Sarah sat still, in her memory she moved her hands, in the present she moved them over Rowan's back. She gently chanted the three word mantra for healing. Sarah crumbled the rowan herb over Rowan's back, sending her good intentions and the idea of smooth, burn free skin towards Rowan. The prickling sensation traveled along her arms, transmitted to her finger tips and then to the crumbling herb.

When she opened her eyes, she felt close to fainting. Rowan was no longer writhing in pain, his back was healing, he was calm, but unconscious. Wiping the tears from her eyes and the snot from her nose, Sarah looked Grant square in the eye. Despite the deadened feeling she had in her arms and legs, Sarah pushed herself to her feet. She couldn't look at Tweak. Couldn't, wouldn't.

"I need more gauze for Sage," she said, her voice thick with unshed tears. Grant, whatever he was thinking, kept it to himself and did as Sarah asked. Once more, she performed the simple healing spell on Sage. The feeling of emptiness and sub par energy tripled, quadrupled, until at the end of it all Sarah passed out, her palms and fingertips tingling.


	84. Civil Unrest-Campaign Mode II

**Chris Redfield**

They'd split into two teams. Hunnigan's advice was, as usual, right on the mark. In the early morning the first shift of breakfast goers were starting to crowd the cafeteria. Chris had taken a sniper's position on a seldom used second story stairway. The stairway ran the full circuit of the room and provided him with plenty of cover. He was used to making tactical decisions but never as a terrorist. Well, more like a revolutionary. Karkarov had stepped beyond reasonable control. The few things he'd seen on his way to the cafeteria made his skin crawl. Granted Karkarov was running the facility with tight military control, but this-the shape of Delta Two-was unreasonable.

Chris readied the sniper rifle, resting the gun securely, sights aimed at the cafeteria entry way. Sheva was slowly making her way there. She'd traded several civilians for a baseball cap and winter vest. The cap was pulled low over her brow as she passed through a security check point undetected. Karkarov had brilliant planning, Chris had to grant him that, but the execution was flawed. The two understaffed guards checking security badges looked as awake as pond scum.

Sheva paused just past the checkpoint, her white vest painted red by Chris's scope. Discreetly she glanced to his make shift crow's nest. The plan was simple, a few flash bangs for disorientation. Chris would kill the lights one at a time for chaos. Sheva would rendezvous with him in twenty minutes. If things went according to plan, by the time the whole mess was sorted out, Karkarov would be in custody. Sheva nodded, slightly her hands going to her pockets. She had three flash bangs. If she timed things wrong, there was a good likelihood that Sheva would ruin her eye sight for a while. Chris took a deep breath. This was going to be risky.

**Jill Valentine**

The hangar was filled will all manner of transportation. The wreckage-the machines too inoperable to salvage-were all clearly deconstructed and set aside for what usable parts there were. The honest scrap metal was no where to be seen. When she had last stepped foot in the hanger there had been more scrap metal than machines.

Jill pushed aside the mystery of the vanishing scrap metal and focused. The idea was to use the two grenades they had to create some kind of non-lethal diversion before meeting up with Chris and Sheva. Leon had suggested a fire bombing. It would work only if the office they hit had nothing too valuable in it. Which-as it was becoming apparent-there no longer was. Every useable object and space had been retasked for additional purposes. Jill was half way through with her surveillance circuit and she had yet to see a feasible diversion opportunity. Trucks would be needed if-and when-they miraculously pulled this off.

"Leon to Jill," Leon's voice was quiet.

"Jill here," Her voice was equally quiet. The government had spent months poking and prodding her. Her internment at the hands of Wesker and Neo-Umbrella had ensured her return to the field was delayed. The blonde-once a natural brunette with brown eyes-knelt in the shadows, listening for Leon intently. Any physical trace of who she used to be-of the agent she was before, was gone. Her DNA had bonded with left over remains of the t-virus. Wesker had used her antibodies to create the most deadliest bioterrorism incident since Racoon City.

"I have nothing," Leon said, breaking Jill's thoughts.

"Same," Jill replied. "We should move on to the next target."

"Agreed." Percussion rocked the ground, vibrating through her boots to her legs.

"What was that?" Jill demanded.

"More than a few flash bang grenades," Leon returned grimly. "We're backing up Chris and Sheva."

"Understood," Jill replied.

**Chris**

The scene unfolding before him was one of chaos and unbridled fear. The flash bang grenades had gone off exactly as planned. However, the sleeping guards hadn't been sleeping, instead one of them had panicked. With his finger on the trigger the idiot had flailed, firing off blind shots both at civilians as well as towards the general kitchen area. The man had winged his partner as well. Several of the shots had hit the gas propane tanks and caused a massive explosion. Now half the cafeteria was on fire. That certainly was one hell of a diversion. Already Chris could see various injured civilians. Sheva had taken down the guard and relieved him of his weapon.

"Sheva you there?" Chris demanded through his ear piece. "Talk to me Sheva."

"I'm here," Sheva coughed. "Barely."

"What's your status?"

"Heading over to rendezvous point," Sheva replied. "Better haul ass, they're scrambling the base forces."

"Roger that," Chris replied shouldering the rifle. "See you there." By the time Chris met up with the rest of them, the base was crawling with every active military personnel.

"What happened?" Leon demanded, coming to a halt. Chris and Sheva exchanged a look.

"An unexpected diversion," Sheva said finally.

"Half the base is crawling with guards," Jill said. "Getting access to Karkarov is going to be more difficult now."

"Not a problem," Chris replied. "We'll make it."

"Then let's move it," Jill cut off any further conversation. "We're wasting time. Leon and I will deal with any security details that may be assigned to Karkarov, you two deal with Karkarov."

"Got it," Sheva replied. Together the four took off down the hallway.

**Hunnigan**

The lights flickered and a dull echo could be heard. Those few pairs of eyes that were open traveled to the ceiling briefly. That had to have been the diversion from her team. She should have been on her team, but instead she was cleaning up after….after whatever had happened had happened…

"What was that?" Grant demanded.

"The diversion," Hunnigan said. "How is this possible?" The man before her had dusky skin, minus searing burn marks. He was babbling in a language Hunnigan didn't understand. All three of them were. Sarah laid on the ground, passed out and pale. With their translator out of it, this was going to be interesting. Hunnigan shook her head, the miraculous healing stunt Sarah had just pulled would have to wait. It was a damn good thing Mike hadn't seen it. "Check her pulse," Hunnigan ordered Grant as she moved over to the woman, checking her for burn marks. "Is she stable?"

"Mostly," Grant said. "Pulse is normal, breathing is labored and light."

"Exhaustion," the voice was quiet. He barked out something to the other two. They fell silent. Evidently, this was the leader. Hunnigan looked over to the man. Green brown dreads, and eyes that reminded her of a wild forest. A remarkably human face and even more mundane clothing otherwise, even the other two were dressed as regularly as any other person on the street. His voice was quiet but had the quality of subdued power. As if his voice alone could cause war and peace at the same time. "She's exhausted. She just cast two healing spells." He paused, "I never knew she learned that."

"Not that I have any idea what that means, but what should I do with her for now?" Hunnigan asked after a second.

"Let her rest. Give her food when she wakes," he said, his quiet voice strained. "Push fluids if she doesn't wake." Push fluids. Typical medical language. He wasn't human but he knew medical terminology. She made a mental note as she studied the young man.

"'If she doesn't wake?'" Hunnigan repeated, raising an eyebrow. "Grant we're moving her to the bed. Would it be too much to ask that you know how to handle an IV needle?"

"It would," Grant replied, with a sigh. Bending down he scooped up Sarah. With some effort he set her gently on the nearest vacant bed. "I can take care of here. Get on your team." With a nod, Hunnigan was moving. She paused, taking in the room around her. The Otherkin lay in various states of medically induced fatigue. Only Vergil had been able to remove himself physically from his bed. He'd only gotten a few steps however. They looked worse for wear. Hunnigan recalled Mike's wonder vitamin. She had a lot of work to do.

The micro thin head set slid over her head as if it belonged there. Hunnigan was quick to get into her running remote computer.

"Leon, Sheva, Jill and Chris, report in?" Hunnigan asked. Gunshots rang clearly over the headset.

"We need an update on Karkarov's location," Chris said. Burst pulses of gunfire sounded.

"I'm locating him now." Hunnigan's hands moved across the keyboard like spiders. "He's in the central operating station," she said after a few minutes. "He does have guards with him."

"Roger that," Chris said. "We're under heavy fire Hunnigan. We can handle this, but there's not a lot of breathing room."

"The otherkin are not in fighting condition," Hunnigan responded, understanding the unspoken question.

"We need something," Sheva said. "They're arming civilians." Civilians? Armed?

"God," Hunnigan swore. This could be bad. This could be bad…they needed to shake Karkarov. Hunnigan gasped, "I've got it. Buy me time."

"How much time?" Jill asked.

"At least ten minutes worth," Hunnigan's hands were racing across the keyboard. This desk must have been Mike's there were snack wrappers all over the place.

"That's a lot of time Hunnigan," Leon replied.

"Trust me," Hunnigan said. "It'll be worth it. Do whatever you have to. Avoid civilian causalities."

"Roger that," Leon said after a moment. The next call Hunnigan made was to Mike.

"Mike?"

"Hunnigan?" Mike sounded winded. "Its crazy up here. What's going on?"

"Mike do you have several of those vitamins you were talking about?"

"Yes, but what?"

"Mike shut up and listen. I need access to the security footage, I need access to your satellite feeds, and I need access to the emergency broadcasting channel for the base. Bring your vitamins and a medical staff member you trust."

"What? Hunnigan, I don't understand-" Mike said, upset.

"Get. Your. Ass. Down. Here. Now," Hunnigan repeated sternly. "Bring your laptop." She paused. "I need your help Mike."

"R-right. I'm on it. Just, um, give me a few minutes."

"You have exactly five," Hunnigan said, "before they gun down my team and us along with them." She hung up. Her hands had been working the entire time, reaching out into the electronic ether and making her finger match the running her mind was doing. Hunnigan raced, working on her master stroke in this coup de tat.


	85. Civil Unrest-Campaign Mode III

**Mike**

People were panicking. A lot of civilians were armed, to his surprise, and the base military wasn't doing much to calm down a budding riot. Stashing his gear in an Avengers back pack, Mike did his best to scurry down the hall, passing would-be looters, frantic medical staff and their patients, lamenting family members of the wounded, and rushing armed military guards. Not a soul gave him the more than a second glance. Something that a man of his girth was not use to.

He could hear the gunshots in the distance as he stepped up to Hunnigan's office. The hallways to the elevator were Closing the door behind himself, Mike set up shop. Knowing the familiarity of the computer set up in his sleep made the process go much quicker. Logging in to Delta Two's computer systems, Mike slid a headset on. He tapped into Hunnigan's channel.

"Hunnigan, here's the emergency board cast channel. I'm linking it to you in a secure encryption. I've already patched you in with a pasword," He spoke without hesitation. "I think I have what you need. Most of the footage is already located in the same place."

"You kept it all together. Good," Hunnigan replied, appreciation and approval in her voice. She paused before adding dryly, "You are supposed to be here."

"I set up shop at your office. Its chaos up here. They're arming civilians and there's a near riot. No one's doing anything to calm things down. You said your laptop was important right. I've got your office door locked."

"I need those vitamins," Hunnigan said exasperated.

"It'll be better to do this without Otherkin help," Mike replied. "You won't need them. Take a look at this." He sent her his private files. The information he'd been collecting since Karkarov took over control of Delta Two.

"My god," Hunnigan said after a long, long pause.

"It gets uglier the longer you watch. War crimes don't even begin to cover it," Mike checked his power puff girl watch. Buttercup was nearing the top of the watch. "Its been seven minutes. You're wasting time. Use it and you won't have to fight to get rid of Karkarov," Mike said.

"Understood." Hunngian's voice was resolute, but it wavered. She was affected by what she saw. As he had been.

**Leon**

He ducked, his back going to the overturned desk as he switched out his clip. The situation was starting to look grim. Jill and him were pinned and ammunition was running low. About seven solders with automatics and flanking ability had ground the two of them into a tactical stalemate. Chris and Sheva were enrout to Karkarov.

Leon glanced over to Jill. The brunett-turned-blonde was taking cover behind a row of metal filing cabinets. It was nothing short of dumb luck that she hadn't caught a bullet yet. Jill caught his eye. Her hand went to the last grenade stashed at her belt. Leon shook his head. Jill narrowed her eyes, her free hand still resting on the grenade. Again Leon shook his head vehemently, not bothering to voice his reasons. The cacophony of gunfire had numbed his hearing to a distant mosquito whine. It would go away with time-hopefully. No doubt Jill also suffered the same affliction, she had been through everything he had. Leon wanted to avoid bloodshed if he could. He knew some of the men and women firing at them. They were good soldiers, following orders. A lot of them were BSAA transfers, if he remembered correctly, and seasoned experts at dealing with Bio-terrorism in all of its gruesome forms. Again, Jill raised an eyebrow, still fingering the grenade. Leon gave her a dirty look. She coolly brought her sub-machine gun aloft, leaving the grenade alone. Jill, always the calm and collected one, took her chances and fired wildly. Leon followed suit, timing his shots as best as he was able. When the last bullet left his clip, he felt a small part of him sink inside. They had to use the grenade now.

**Sheva**

She followed Chris on his six. Three months of inactivity and sub par meals were making it difficult. They had run in to little resistance. What resistance there was had been easily dispatched. Not a soul was dead, thank goodness, but there was more than a few men with a signature black eye or sore jaw curtsy of her partner. Chris was a big man and a tough soldier. In Africa she'd watched him punch out oncoming attackers by reflex.

Chris signaled for her to stop as they approached the base operations center. The place was quiet. Too quiet. There were no people.

"This can't be right," Sheva said quietly as her back neared his. "Where is every one?"

"Hunnigan, are you there?" Chris spoke into his communications piece. "Hunnigan respond. I need intel on Karkarov's location."

"Hunnigan to Chris," Her voice came in weak through the static, "Hold your position….have a….repeat…hold your position…hav…" The static became too heavy, obliterating Hunnigan's voice.

"Dammit," Chris swore. "What the hell is Hunnigan up to?" He turned to Sheva. It didn't take long for Sheva to make up her mind. She locked and loaded.

"We locate Karkarov," Sheva said.

"We proceed with caution," Chris said after a moment, "If it gets too hot, we get out of there. Agreed?" Sheva nodded, opting not to comment on the sudden pain that flared in Chris's eyes for a moment. Some distant memory, a mental battle scar, plaqued the man. She saw it in him from time to time more recently, an unfamiliar Chris haunted by some memory. He hadn't been that way before. Not so undisciplined about it in any case. Without further warning, Chris took the corner keeping to the wall.

"Hoorah," Sheva replied, following him. Whatever Hunnigan was working on, she'd better move her ass. This place was giving her the creeps.

**Mike**

"Its done," Hunnigan said, "Mike put this through to every emergency broadcast Delta Two has."

"Understood," Mike said. In a matter of seconds all the intercom and television channels of communication were activated and Mike's streaming video feeds-all of them taken from base security surveillance-began to play on every available screen. Hunnigan spoke, her voice echoing through crowded halls and scrambling bodies.

"Citizens and Soldiers of Delta Two. I am Ingred Hunnigan, former commander of Delta Two. Today I share with you the footage our current Commander and chief of arms, General Karkarov, has kept secret. What you see before you is an unconstitutional use of unauthorized force. Over the past three months, nearly 100 survivors have been gunned down at our own gates." The footage played in grainy black and white as innocents, men, women, and children, were fired upon. "Karkarov has automated our perimeter gate and abused his power, while ignoring the turmoil of the outside world." The footage cut to satellite feed. Very recognizable cities burned, other military bases welcomed hundreds of refugees. "Protocol 13 was a governmental plan of action to be followed during a bio-pandemic. Karkarov has failed to uphold his role as a leader, going so far as to force inhuman experimentation upon fellow American citizens."

Mike peeked out of the office door, the hallway had quieted significantly. Hunnigan continued her speech. Silently closing the door behind him, he made his way towards the elevators.

"This morning, not more than an hour ago an explosion rocked the cafeteria," Hunnigan continued. "I understand several were injured in the explosion. I can promise a secure environment and more stable living conditions. I am calling to all civilians to lay down their arms, and assist any injured. All active military personal, please allow my team to escort General Karkarov to the great hall for a civil hearing." Civil hearing? Mike blinked. Had he heard that right? Was Hunnigan crazy? Karkarov wouldn't have given them that kind of fighting chance, why was she giving a mad man that kind of public opportunity? Mike picked up the pace, huffing a little from the effort. He had to get to Hunnigan. The woman was going to kill them all.

**Leon **

Hunnigan's speech rang over his com piece to point where he had to remove the device. The gun fire relaxed as Hunnigan continued with her calm, assertive argument. Leon glanced over to Jill. She shrugged as they listened to Hunnigan. How long had Hunnigan been planning this maneuver?

"Leon?" A voice called out. "That you shootin' at us?" Leon pin pointed the voice. Tex. His real name was Martin, but he had such a drawl to his voice that everyone called him Tex. It didn't help martin's case any that he was a deadly sharp shooter.

"Not really," Leon called back, fingers scrambling for any stray bullets in his pockets.

"She tellin' the truth Leon?" Tex demanded.

"I was in a basement for 3 months," Leon called back. "Karkarov's orders. You better damn well believe she's telling the truth."

"Hot damn," Tex whistled. "Hey you idiots, lower yer weapons."

"Sir?"

"I said lower'em," Tex snapped. "Leon get out here." Leon looked over to Jill. She rested her hand on the grenade, a cool, quizzical look on her face. The question was clear. Leon nodded.

"I'm moving, but you gotta realize, I'm blowing your ass to Texas if you fire on me," Leon shouted back.

"Fine by me," Tex replied, easy going. Leon rose slowly, his gun still in his hands. Leon faced seven soldiers armed to the teeth. Cautiously, Leon approached Tex.

"Karkarov's really stepped into it, hasn't he?" Tex asked.

"Pretty deep," Leon agreed. Tex studied Leon for a moment.

"You look like shit." Leon shrugged, holding his breath.

"What do you need from me?" Tex asked bluntly.

"Are you offering to help?" Leon was suspicious. Granted he wasn't dead yet, but this was almost too easy.

"Karkarov's an ornery bastard," Tex replied, catching Leon's drift. "Can't say I care much for him. Got Stevenson killed last month with his bullshit perimeter sweeps. Waste of ammo and good men." Griff Stevenson had been a reliable man. Leon didn't remember much about him, but he knew the name and knew the man's reputation. No wonder Tex was buying Hunnigan's propaganda. Leon shook his head. "So," Tex added after a moment, "what do you need?" At that, Leon gave Tex a wary grin. _Where there was a will..._

**Sheva**

The offices were empty. There were no personnel. None at all. To say that it was unusual would have been an understatement.

"What is going on?" Chris voiced her thought. Sheva shook her head. Her footsteps were silent. Years of hunting in the wild bush of west Africa gave her the stance of predator and the instincts to go with it. As they swept the office, Hunnigan's speech continued to echo in the empty room.

"Chris," Sheva said indicating to what must have been Karkarov's office door. They took up position on either side of the door. After a second they stormed in. More silence greeted them. Chris and Sheva exchanged looks. They could see Karkarov in his chair, unmoving infront a wall of monitors. All of them showed group after group of innocent civilians, all seeking refugee, were shot down without question.

"General Karkarov," Chris barked, "I'm placing you under military arrest." No response. Again that uneasy feeling permeated Sheva's gut. Chris indicated for her to cover him. She did, leveling the shot gun at the back of Karkarov's head as Chris inched towards the man. Reaching for the chair Chris yanked Karkarov around to face them.

The gut reaction yanked at her insides as she finally recognized the instinct for what it was. Stifling a gag, Sheva had to look away for a moment. Pacing, she turned her back on Karkarov.

"Jesus," Chris uttered, gagging. Sheva turned away, forcing a slow breath through her mouth. She wanted to leave the room. Anything to avoid the smell. Just then their com pieces crackled to life.

"Leon to Chris and Sheva. I've got a fix on Karkarov's position. He's been holding up in the operating base offices for almost a month now. We're coming to your location with reinforcements. Karkarov is-"

"Yeah we found him," Chris cut Leon off. "Don't bother with the reinforcements. Send a mortician."

"What?" Jill asked, breaking in on the conversation. "Chris, executing Karkarov wasn't our directive. Hunnigan's orders were to bring him in."

"Karkarov is dead," Chris replied, flatly, "By the look of it, he's been that way for a month." He sighed, his voice going low. "Send a mortician with a strong stomach. Let Hunnigan know."


	86. Disturbing Bread Crumbs

**Hunnigan**

The news of Karkarov's death was met with mixed reviews. A majority of the civilian populace saw Karkarov as a necessary evil. Nearly half the soldiers still sympathized with Karkarov's 'humanity first' priorities, regardless of how many humans he murdered pursuing such priorities. The other half of the soldiers had lost good men and women to Karkarov's ruthless policies. Overall, there was very little tolerance for Otherkin among both civilians and soldiers, as Hunnigan had feared. Even with Karkarov gone, many citizens were calling for the removal of the Otherkin from the base.

Heated social issues aside, Karkarov's autopsy only made the matter of his death more of a trigger. The public had a right to know how Karkarov died, however Hunnigan was disinclined to give out anything other than fabricated truth. To everyone save for a select few, Karkarov had died quietly of a heart attack after secluding himself in his offices. Playing up the paranoid aspect of Karkarov's personality did little to cool the social tensions however.

The reality was much darker. Karkarov's neck had been snapped. Karkarov himself had died of suffocation, the broken neck leading to his asphyxiation. However the look of horror on his face was more than telling. If even a hint of Otherkin was implied in Karkarov's death, she would light the match over the tinder herself and pour plenty of gasoline on it afterwards. Hunnigan had no doubt in her mind that Delta Two would tear itself apart on wild Otherkin witch hunt. _But who had murdered Karkarov?_

To make matters worse, Karkarov's experimentation had left the group of eight Otherkin severely weakened. If Delta Two did become a frenzied self sustaining mob, the Otherkin had very little chance of defending themselves. Mike's vitamin supplement wasn't working the way it should have. It did help, with noticeable effect, but it wasn't enough. Several of them-Rayne, and the two delegate escorts Sarah had healed-were up and moving, albeit slowly. The serum that kept the Otherkin from becoming infected also ensured a gross lack of nutrients entered their systems as well. Mike's theory was that Rayne's biological make up was altered by her particular feeding method. He had little to no explanation regarding the escorts, but Hunnigan would just as soon as leave Mike in the dark concerning _that_ matter. And once Sarah woke up, Hunnigan would have to further sort out what ever it was she had witnessed. _If_ Sarah woke up. The teen was still asleep in the medical ward, an IV in her arm.

Hunnigan sighed. It was nothing short of a nightmare. Leaning back, she slowly rolled her head, willing the knots of tension to work themselves out. They didn't. She only succeeded in stretching already taut muscles. She hadn't even begun to consider the state of the world. With a pandemic raging beyond the confining rock walls of mountainous Colorado, there were-without a doubt-numerous refugees in need of assistance. Supplies at Delta Two were with in normal parameters-the only positive legacy Karkarov had left behind-but they would need more to take on civilians. She needed answers and she wasn't getting them by sitting at her desk.

A knock sounded on the door. Leaning back in her chair, Hunnigan eyed the doorway.

"You look tired," Mike said.

"Tell me you have good news?" Hunnigan replied.

"I have news," Mike said, leaning in the doorway. "I'm not sure you'll like it. It can wait. I can always come back." Silently Hunnigan shook her head.

"Show me now," She said. "I need a break from this room." Twenty minutes later found Hunnigan in Mike's research lab. It was unusually devoid of candy wrappers.

"Remember when I said I had some information on Lor?" Mike asked, taking a seat at his computer.

"Of course," Hunnigan said.

"Right," Mike agreed. "I was pulling information from the satellite surveillance. Any major pandemic outbreak and I pulled the video feed on it." Tapping his keyboard, Mike pulled up a few windows. "I traced the video feed to the first recorded infectee."

"And?" Hunnigan asked warily.

"And you might want to sit down for this," Mike nodded to an empty chair. With a groan, Hunnigan sat down. The first video began to play. The camera panned out, showing the view of an empty street. It was night and traffic lights glared against rain sodden concrete. Several cars were parked across the street. The camera began to vibrate as it panned.

"Earthquake?" Hunnigan asked.

"That's what I thought at first too," Mike said. "Keep watching." A solar flared lit up the screen, obliterating the camera's view of the street. As the light died, it became obvious that the source of it as off camera. Although the footage was silent, the alarm lights of the parked cars were going off. As the camera panned painfully slow, the outline of a figure could just barely be made out against the near unbarable blaze of white. The footage ended, suspending the non-descript figure in a halo of white.

"What did I just see?" Hunnigan asked.

"I also thought that when I first saw it. So I hacked a few satellites in that area," Mike said. This is the result of that." Mike pulled up the second window. A light flared on a distant street. The satellite zoomed in on that location. In the space were the light had been, a lone figure stood, in the middle of a cross roads. Darkness seemed to radiate from the figure, seeping outwards along the black of the road. The footage zoomed out.

"This is two hours after the light was reported," Mike said. "The first calls of infectees are recorded." The footage fast forwarded. "This is five hours." Parts of the city were on fire, a multitude of dead could be seen in the streets. "This is twelve hours." Nearly every part of the city was ablaze. "There are no reported casualties for this city." Mike said.

"No reported casualties?" Hunnigan demanded sharply.

"There's no report because there were no survivors," Mike said slowly.

"What are those other windows?" Hunnigan asked quietly, nodding to Mike's monitor.

"These are the recorded satellite feed from five other towns across the world," Mike explained. "One in Africa, Europe, Austrailia, Canada, and Russia." The windows played simultaneously. "The MO is the same for each town. A devastating earth quake related white light and a black plaque follows it shortly."

"MO?" Hunnigan repeated.

"Mode of Operation," Mike said. "I cleaned up the satellite feed."

"Mike what does this have to do with Lor?" Hunnigan demanded, concern began to leech into her stomach like a parasite.

"Lor is the world's most deadliest terrorist in the history of mankind," Mike said with quiet nervousness. "She's the one spreading the weaponized plaque." Mike pulled up the final screen.

"No," Hunnigan whispered.

"This is the light," Mike said, playing back the feed. "I filtered it out."

"This can't be," Hunnigan said, shaking her head yet unable to take her eyes away from the screen.

"This is the dark figure," Mike replied, relentless. "I lightened the image. Sharpened the edges." The last screen image popped up, playing slowly. Lauren Star, black hair grown out past her shoulders, wearing a white dress, stood in the middle of a bio-terror zone, hours after the city fell upon itself, infected and chaotic. Lauren looked up to the sky, to the satellite, gold eyes cold and smirk on her mouth. As if she knew someone was watching her.

"How is this possible?" Hunnigan demanded, rising to her feet. "Mike why didn't you tell me sooner!?"

"I tried too!" Mike exclaimed. "You wouldn't talk to me!"

"God," Huggian whispered. The image was clear. There was no mistaking Lor's steady gaze. No mistake at all.

"Um, Hunnigan," Mike began, his voice going quiet.

"You do not keep this kind of information quiet!" Hunnigan snapped, still staring at the image. Her mind reeled, trying to see a way out of it now that she was handed this.

"Ingred, you should sit down," Mike said, suddenly rising to his feet.

"This is a nightmare," Hunnigan said softly.

"Ingred, you're pale," Mike said. Hunnigan blinked. Mike was fuzzy. She realized she was crying when the tears fell from her chin. With everything to deal with and now this. "You should really sit down."

"Yes," Hunnigan said faintly, quickly erasing the stressful tears. She sat weakly in the chair offered to her. Quickly she restraitened her skirt, and made sure her hair was still in place.

"I never told Karkarov," Mike said nervously.

"Shut up," Hunnigan moaned, hands going to crandle her head as she leaned forward. "How could this be? I _checked_ her. _Everything_ I _had_ on her. I _checked_ her. She had _no_ ties. Nothing in her _background_. There was nothing I _missed_. So how?"

"Um…I'm going to go get um, Leon."

"Bring Chris as well!" Hunnigan shouted after him as he left, knowing even as she said it, that there was nothing either of them would be able to do with this new information.


	87. Disturbing Bread Crumbs II

**Disturbing Bread Crumbs II**

**Leon**

He was waiting for Leon nervously. He kept shifting his weight from foot to foot as if he was guilty of robbing a bank. _…Or a cookie jar_, Leon thought absentmindedly. He glanced down at the cookie he was eating. It was stale but he'd take what he could get. Cookies were becoming a commodity.

"Agent Leon?" the man asked, "Leon Kennedy?" Leon nodded, cramming the last bit of the cookie in his mouth before brushing his hands off. The big guy shuffled again, from foot to foot. He was wearing a Simpson's shirt. Leon hadn't seen one of those since the 1990's. "Um, I'm Mike. I'm one of Hunnigan's support staff."

"Yeah?" Leon asked. Hunnigan? What did she want?

"Um," Mike crammed his hands in his pockets. Military personnel always made Mike nervous. They reminded him of the time special forces had stormed his home when he was 15. That had been after they'd traced his NASA hack back to his IP server address. Military people always made him nervous and Leon was no exception. "Um, could you come with me for a couple of minutes? Um, Hunnigan said to ask you for some assistance."

**Vergil**

Panting, he allowed himself a slow, controlled decline to the floor. It was maddening. It had been a week and still he was as weak as a simpering human. He couldn't so much as perform several simple parrying and thrusting techniques before his arms quaked from overuse. The same could be said for his legs and by gods, the weakness of his aura was appalling. He was weakened, in body and spirit, not that his mental facilities were by any means damaged. Woe be to the fool who had left him conscious during this insane slip of physique.

Any progress however, was something to grasp and clamor for. He couldn't very well stroll into hell in this condition and expect anything short of a brutal homecoming. It was an affront to his pride and honor as a demon to be limited in such a way and a personal insult he wouldn't tolerate. He would personally end the human responsible for this. And when he was done with the corpse he would drag the bastard's soul hellward and let the fool suffer eternity.

Vergil ground his jaw, seething quietly as he caught his breath in slow, controlled gasps and pants. His back was slick with sweat, which he welcomed as a sign of his slowly returning strength. As the cool metal of the wall clung to the skin at the back of his neck, a groggy familiar feeling was cooling the flame of abject hate in his gut. With a deliberate slow sigh, Vergil allowed sleep to take him, even as he gripped his sword. It was-at present-the only escape he could afford. `

_It was black, but then again, he didn't dream so it was only natural that it would be black. No Vergil didn't dream but when he slept, he could remember. He could recall with crystal clarity, things he had forgotten, either deliberately or unintentionally. _

_Once again, it was cold. He didn't feel cold, but if he did, he imagined that this is what cold would feel like. A stillness in his center, a slow spread of non-feeling from the tip off his nose and fingers towards his heart, as if to eat away at anything not strong enough to survive it. The wind howled in his ears as it whipped about him in a blanket of white._

_The ocean churned beneath him, its darkness was unnatural. Water did not look that dark, as if shadows dwelled beneath the surface. He knew very well, that at that precise moment in time, some thing far more black and sinister than mere shadows dwelt just under the surface. Something not even a Son of Sparda would lightly consider taking arms to. _

_With eyes of marble, he watched. His hand-if he felt pain-he imagined his hand would have hurt. Blood coursed through his fingers, the wound refusing to heal normally. The foreign, inflicting aura that had created the wound was refusing to let it heal. Red tinted cobalt blood seeped into the crevice between fingernail and skin before falling upon a white canvas of snow. The smattering of liquid burned through the snow, creating miniature creators. Still he did not look away. He couldn't move and out of respect-or perhaps a misplaced objectification of the idea of respect-he wouldn't move. Not until it all faded back to a normal, earthen realm black. When it finally, finally did, he turned away, just as he had in real life. Just as he did now, in the present, in his dream. _

_Once again the world shifted, as it had before, when he remembered as he slept. He was weakened in this memory, just as he was in the present. Vali had sent her best and he had squashed the assassin beneath his boot heel. It had cost him dearly, but no matter, he was victor. He had no strength left to stand, so he simply dwelled, seated next to the corpse of his slain foe. _

_Boot steps, heels scraping against the ground, sounded down the alleyway. It was Her. The female human. What was her name again? Something lyrical, he searched his memory as she clumsily approached him. Then she was there, standing stock still her weak eyes staring into the night. Ah Lauren. Her name was Lauren. So the Amerhurst worked after all. Little Lauren had come to find him, answering a call he had never intended to make. The little fool. Why would she do such a thing?_

"_Oh my god, Vergil you're bleeding." She was on her knees then, in the dirty alleyway. Her concern was as disconnecting as her mere presence. Her hands were on his person, stopping the free flow of blood at his stomach. It was strange, feeling her hands trying to save his life. As if he was in danger of losing it. The concern was as foreign as her attitude towards her cigarettes was. The assassin, Thalis, breathed his last, rattling breath. She glanced, squinting in the darkness, yet unseeing. Despite her limitations, a knowing look entered her panther eyes, and she regarded him again. This time her gaze was slanted with a healthy dose of cynicism. She was a clever human, he'd give her that. Far too clever for her own good._

"_What did you do?" She demanded, a layer of irritation entering her voice and sugar coating the concern. What had he done? If only the little idiot knew. If only Little Idiot Lauren knew, she would run in the opposite direction and never once look back nor stop for rest. Had he known perhaps he would have done just that as well, but then again, he was a Son of Sparda. It was not in his blood to run from a fight. _

_He felt a wry smirk lifting the corners of his mouth. Although he spoke not a word her face contorted into something resembling disgust. He was victor and was met by this scorn? This victory was hallowed by this girl's mere presence, but no matter, he was victor all the same. He sank then, inward, too weakened to keep his eyes open. That didn't mean however, that he didn't feel her presence or hear her voice or smell her scent as she tended to him. And she did tend to him as best as she could. She was perhaps the first, other than his own mother, to do so. Even as she removed the metal shrapnel from his cold flesh, he pitied her fate as he dwelt in the darkness of his mind, avoiding the presence of pain like a pariah within his own body. The cynical little idiot woman, an all knowing fool more like. Lauren, he remembered, her name was Lauren. Little Lauren. _

_She should have left him to die. _

Shuddering Dante awoke. Taking a deep breath, he blinked. It was the same ceiling as before. Every time he closed his eyes it was something different. Dante ran a hand through his hair. Usually the order was reversed. Vergil had forced their link back into existence, just as Dante had responded to it. Now both of them were too weak to control it. Every night he dreamed-lived-his twin's memories. He saw Vergil's victories, his brutalities, his cruelties-all of which he expected-and perhaps the most surprising part, Dante saw flickers of Vergil's fragile humanity. It was not something Dante wanted to know about his twin, nor had realized it even existed in someone with such a bloated demonic ego.

With nothing to do other than eat and heal, Dante was left with too much time on his hands. Too much time do nothing other than think. He'd always avoided idle time and now he didn't have any other kind of time. The pieces however, were beginning to fall into place. The more of Vergil's memories Dante saw, the more he understood. That was to say he understood there was a lot he _didn't_ understand. Vergil had pitied Lauren, known she'd have a miserable fate, known about what would happen at New Light? But he'd waited, out of respect for her, that night. Dante closed his eyes. Vergil? Respect a human? Respect the weaker sex? Only if there was damn good reason for it, or so he'd been brought to believe. What the hell was going on? There were missing pieces. Things he didn't know and the random shit Vergil dreamed up wasn't helping. Well…mostly not helping, granted he was starting to see his twin as not such an nonredeemable fuck up. _Shit._

Opening his eyes, Dante pushed himself up to a sit. At his side Trish was curled up, laying on her side, still sleeping. It'd been a week and they were still bed-ridden. Or rather the two of them couldn't have been bothered to do much. They would heal, but they wouldn't be separated until they were both on their feet. Hunnigan had made sure they'd been granted secluded rooms. In fact, Hunnigan was granting them a lot of seclusion. Not all of it was for an apology. Yawning, Dante scratched the back of his neck. As always something was up. He didn't run a detective agency for shits and giggles. Swinging his legs over the bed's edge, Dante got to his feet slowly, feeling the pain in his muscles as he did so. Maybe it was time to take a walk.

**Chris**

He glanced over to Leon who gave him a knowing look. They both followed Mike as he led them to Hunnigan. Who was this guy? He hadn't really explained why Hunnigan needed them. Technically Leon and he were off duty. Granted such at thing in the BSAA didn't really exist.

It took another minute of silent walking before they came up Mike lab. When they entered the room Hunnigan's back was to the three of them as she watched a video loop on a computer terminal.

"You came," she said softly. "Good." She turned to face Chris and Leon both, crossing her arms. "Its imperative that we alert any remaining governments and civilizations of impending bioterrorism attacks."

"Excuse me?" Chris asked, raising an eyebrow. With a nod over her shoulder, Hunnigan gestured to the computer terminal.

"We've been had." Leon and Chris watched the satellite feed Mike had pulled. They watched it a second time with Mike's treatment.

"Both Raziel and Lauren have been missing since the bio terrorism outbreak. Almost all of the scientists that worked under Raziel in his laboratory are dead or unaccounted for."

" 'Unaccounted for'?" Chris asked.

"They couldn't access dental records to identify them," Leon said softly. "Are we assuming Lor is an enemy?" Hunnigan sighed, quiet for a moment.

"How can we say?" She replied finally. "Yes she's been missing, but she didn't strike me as a bio-terrorist collaborator."

"They never do," Leon said dryly to himself.

"We can however, verify her past, which may lead to us to some clues as to her present where-abouts."

"We don't have time for that," Chris said grimly. "She's already decimated five cities."

"She also helped locate survivors in another," Hunnigan replied evenly.

"She was found in a bio-terrorism zone," Leon reminded her. Hunnigan sighed.

"What would you have me do? We don't know enough."

"What you do know is pretty fucked up," a new voice said, breaking the building tension in the room. The group of four turned to take in a pale Dante leaning on the doorframe with a bored expression. He was wearing the baggy grey sweats the Otherkin had been interned in and a black shirt. "And what you don't know is probably worse." Dante scrubbed his stubble with a hand.

"What do you know about this?" Hunnigan asked, gesturing to the screen.

"Until five seconds ago?" Dante asked wryly, "Nothing."

"And how the hell do we know if that's true?" Chris snapped angrily. Dante shrugged coolly.

"You don't," Dante said with a yawn. Warily he pushed off the door frame. "But that's not what she looks like when she smirks." Slowly, Dante began to shuffle off, but he paused. "You might want to ask my bro, he might know something." With that Dante left, one painful step after the other.

"Seriously!?" Chris demanded, trying unsuccessfully to control his anger. "We went out of our way to help these guys and they might be the ones creating this damn mess!?

"Not 'they', just one of them," Hunnigan said quietly. "We don't really any answers. All the same, Chris I want to find out just how many BSAA operatives were transferred here under Karkarov's orders before the first wave of pandemic hit the United States." She turned to Leon, "I want you locate a man who goes by the last name of 'Grant'. He was Sarah's internment roommate and a rescued infectee from the Twin Cities. And Mike?" She turned to the large man. "Go through everything. Start with any footage we have of Karkarov in his last month. I want to know who I have to thank for the bastard's murder." Hunnigan sighed again. "We're going to find out as much as we can before we make any sort of decision."


	88. Corrupted Seeds & Calculated Combate

**ASH**

His consecration took root in the flesh of the Undevout. He could feel His divine seed flourishing as the Unclean became sacred. The process was simple one but it wasn't long before His newest disciple tuned to Him with eyes washed clean of ignorance. Enlightenment transcended specie, as did He. The disciple went still, knowing His presence. Silently he bid His disciple to go forth and share of His enlightenment with others. To spread the Seed that would choke out the Unclean, the Ignorant, and the Undevout. Kneeling, His disciple silently bowed, ready and willing to do His bidding.

He turned. The disciple would never again feel His divine presence. Instead it would spend a life time spreading the Seed of His Awesomeness, honoring Him until its True Death. As a disciple and True Believer should. As He turned, He caught sight of His Favored One. She was not kneeling, but silent in the glory of His presence.

She had come to Him doing His bidding even before she had been baptized with His Seed. Her blood was that of a High Born and bore with it a Legacy. She was the first of many Legacies, rare creatures with Fragments of Power hidden away in their blood. The earthly world had yielded few Legacies, but this Underworld, Legacies abounded in this world. He would reap the Legacies from their fragile mortal shells and bring enlightenment to a world of faithless Non-Believers. He gestured to his Favored One. She came to Him as bidden. He felt out to the Seed he had planted within her. It responded-as she always seemed to-accordingly.

"There are legacies to be had," he told her. "Kneel." She did as He told her to. Gently He played with her midnight hair. She shivered as He did so. "Find my Legacies and I will reward you. Unleash your rage upon those who defy your will. You are my Favored One. Act as my hands and eyes. No other is more blessed in My will than you." She looked to Him then her strange eyes alight. Her Legacy had been so visible to him. "Go," He commanded.

Silent she rose, the red violent sky of Underworld stretching before her. She left, to carry out His will. Bored, He turned to His disciple. Already the Seed was taking root in others. He would take all the Legacies back.

**Dante**

**Delta Two**

"Hey Verggie," Dante said as he kicked his brother's outstretched leg. Vergil simply glared at him, not bothering to do more than crack an eyelid. "Get up," Dante said roughly. Vergil, unfazed, didn't move. For whatever reason no response was the worse response. Irked, Dante glared back down at his twin.

"Get up, Vergil," Dante growled flatly. Snarling in response, Vergil glared back at Dante. Iced blue glared into its mirror reflection.

"Did you not nap enough, little brother?" Vergil asked, finally. It was meant to be a dig but the groggy strain was evident in Vergil's voice. Clearing his throat Dante sat down next to his twin, his legs in need of a break. Vergil stared, clearly untrusting of his brother's proximity.

"Maybe not," Dante finally admitted, scratching his chin. Mutely shaking his head, Vergil attempted to ignore his twin's pretense. For several wary moments neither spoke. Until, "what do you want?" Vergil's voice was stronger, though it lacked its usual edge.

"Dunno," Dante replied. "Just thinking." Vergil raised an eyebrow, glancing over to his twin. "You used to stub your foot and I'd feel the pain. I'd skin my knee and you would bleed." Dante sighed, falling quiet.

"Reminiscing is a waste of time," Vergil commented.

"Not really," Dante said. They sat silently for a moment more. Stirring Dante rose to his feet.

"They found her."

" 'They'?" Vergil echoed.

"She's spreading the virus," Dante continued.

"She's not capable of that," Vergil replied dismissively.

"She isn't?" Dante turned to his brother for the first time. "The little human you scraped off the face of the earth to be your pet toy?" Vergil held his silence, his eyes and face impassive.

"You should leave," Vergil said quietly.

"Get off your ass and say that," Dante responded flatly. Vergil was on his feet then, albeit slowly.

"What exactly are you trying to accomplish?" Vergil growled.

"Me?" Dante asked. "Just starting a brotherly fight."

"You're a fool," Vergil growled.

"Maybe, but I'm one with an idea." Glaring, Vergil eyed his twin. He didn't have to wait long. Dante wound up and lashed out with a weak kick. Vergil was hard pressed to block it. He reacted by instinct, spinning and throwing a hook. His arm felt like lead.

The second fist caught him by surprise. It slammed into his gut with the force of a freight train. Reeling he quickly recovered, going on the defensive. Dante swung another wild blow. Vergil dropped, sweeping his brother's legs out beneath him. Dante hit the ground hard. He rolled, Vergil's boot striking where his head had been not more than moments ago. Panting Dante got to his knees. Vergil regarded him, body tense but hands in weak fists.

"Feels good don't it?" Dante asked, his face suddenly splitting into a grin. Vergil raised an eyebrow coolly. His legs shook, his arms ached, and every single nerve stood on end. It was damming. For the first time in several weeks, Vergil felt like himself. Or at least a shadow of himself.

"Perhaps," Vergil allowed. "Even a fool strikes gold once."

"Who are you calling an idiot?" Dante demanded, getting to his feet.

"My apologizes," Vergil smirked, "I forgot you preferred dumbass. "

"You're going to regret that," Dante said. He spat, eyeing up his twin. He moved, closing the distance between the two of them.

"Unlikely," Vergil retorted, going on the offensive.

When it was over, a scant fifteen minutes later, both brothers lay on the ground exhausted. Dante lay sprawled out on his back, sweat oozinng from every pore. Vergil sat, back propped against a wall. Sweat slicked his forehead and neck. Both were panting.

"She wouldn't be able to accomplish half of what they think she can," Vergil was the first to break the silence. Dante didn't reply, he simply rolled his head to glance over at his twin.

"I have no fucking clue," Dante said finally, "whatever fascination you have with her, but she's involved with this Vergil." Silence fell over the two of them again. Groaning, Dante pushed himself into a sit. "She's too much like you not to be," Dante added, getting to his feet gingerly. Dante cracked his neck, feeling the muscles in his body tighten and twist into knots. Tomorrow was going to be rough. Slowly, Dante limped out towards the door.

"You're wrong," Vergil's voice was gravel quiet. "She's nothing like me." Dante paused, glancing over his shoulder. "She's too alive to be like me," Vergil commented.

"Whatever bro," Dante said, not bothering to ponder his brother's words. He was too tired for the implications. "She's your burden to bare."

**Hell**

The blood of the ancient flowed like a stream down his neck. Ruthlessly she squeezed, feeling the stiff rubber of his esophagus bend before giving under the relentless pressure of her palm. The creature gurgled, drowning in his own blood and watching her with slowly dimming eyes. Uninterested she lathed her lips clean of the fine mist of blood coating them. Eyes blank as the setting sun she let the dead thing drop. Easily she stepped over the unmoving body. About her a field of new Converts blossomed, their eyes now opened to His Blessing. Those too weak to survive the change now lay upon the ground in a carpet of limbs. Just as well, He had no use for weakness. Wordlessly she called to them and they responded to her Voice. She was all they knew, His Favored One, but they followed her Will accordingly.

Before her rose a castle of blackness, spires cragged and crumbling. Hell's Vultures swarmed overhead, wheeling the rust red sky. It was a nightmare castle, born from the horrors experienced by a million desperate souls. Yet she felt no fear. She walked untouched, undisturbed through a valley of carnage. Blood soaked the soles of her feet, it drenched the barren earth, and made a silky mud of the dead ground. It didn't matter, nothing here did. No, she felt nothing at all as she stormed the very heart of the underworld.

**Trish  
Delta Two  
**  
Trish panted, coughing. She had never felt this weakness before. It was hard to breath. Sweat lined the collar of her shirt and formed a dark track down to the small of her back. She was sweating all right and it was both disgusting and uncomfortable. She didn't sweat. Ever. It was a less than underwhelming experience, to say the least.

"This must be what 'human' feels like," Rayne croaked beside her. The dhampire appeared more waxen than her usual pallor the only real hint, other than the pinkish perspiration, of her own exertion.

"I wouldn't know or care to know," Trish replied shortly. "This really is pathetic," she added as she held up a near sparrow thin arm. She could barely summon a spark, but Vergil and Dante's idea was proving effective. In the last week, she'd gone from bed ridden to running laps around the lower levels of Delta Two.

"And they called us monsters," Rayne grumbled, reaching for a blood pack. The humans had refused to give Rayne any more transfusions and instead were giving her cloned blood. The process was relatively simple, though time consuming, according to Mike. Rayne was allotted one blood packet per three days. "Do they ever stop?" Rayne asked, between gulps. She was looking towards the Sparda Twins.

"No," Trish replied, darkly. "Never." While the rest of them were still struggling to walk, the Sons of Sparda were making leaps and bounds. They were physical proof that this newest form of torture could be endured. They were clashing, swords waving in the air. They weren't fast by any means, but they were now giving any regular human a run for his or her money. Their blades grated hard against each other, the edges long since dulled from brutal use. Vergil and Dante both recoiled from the blow, backing away. They fell into a circling stance. Dante was shirtless, his skin slick with sweat and his usually white hair matted to a wet grey color. Vergil had stripped to a sleeveless shirt, he was pale from exertion but refused to give up his clothing as freely as his brother. There was something of their father's noble pride, Trish suspected, in the both of them. She could only guess at how their mother's particularities had affected them. The latter was a thought she rarely entertained.

With a yell Dante charged, going all out in a final, exhausted attempt to corner and dismantle his twin's ironclad defense. Vergil twisted his blade, aligning it with the length of his body as he caught the tip of Dante's charge. With a deft spin, the sword was deflected, though not as Vergil had intended. Off balance, Dante fell to a knee, twisting his torso and bringing up the length of Rebellion to blunt the wrath of Vergil's counter attack. Pushing back, Dante got to his feet once more as Vergil backed away.

"Nice," Dante commented.

"Like a monkey fucking a coconut," Vergil retorted flatly, unimpressed with neither himself nor his twin. Smirking Dante eyed his brother. He was working too hard these days to dream. Usually he was so exhausted by the time he lay his head down for the night that al he sank into was a nice, blank darkness. He had to wonder what was going through his twin's mind from time to time. He thought he had known his brother. He was seeing now, that he had once again misjudged his twin.

"Engard," Dante snarled, lunging again.


End file.
